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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






SHIPMATES 



A strong arm was flung around him — a stronger hand 
than his caught the helm . — Page lJf2. 


SHIPMATES 

BY 

MARY T WAGGAMAN 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 


BENZIGER BROTHERS 


Publishers of Benziger’s Magazine 

1914 


PZ-3 

\N\ £ 4 - 


Copyright, 1914, by Benziger Brothers 


OCT 24 1914 

If o. 

©Cl. A 387177 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I page 

Pip 7 

CHAPTER II 

A Flight for Life 25 

CHAPTER III 

A Flitting 35 

CHAPTER IV 

Roving Rob 50 

CHAPTER V 

A Business Venture 63 

CHAPTER VI 

An Odd Job 76 

CHAPTER VII 

Drifting 89 

CHAPTER VIII 

A Shipmate’s Day 103 

CHAPTER IX 

An Hour by the Sea 117 

5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER X page 

A Homeward Voyage 134 

CHAPTER XI 

In the Storm 144 

CHAPTER XII 

“Partners” 159 

CHAPTER XIII 

The Lost Sheep 177 

CHAPTER XIV 

Conclusion 193 


SHIPMATES 

CHAPTER I 
pip 

I T WAS very hot. The July sun, that 
was calling all things into life, growth 
and bloom in field and forest, was blazing 
down fiercely in the great city as if 
angered at the huge piles of brick and 
stone and steel that rose so defiantly 
against his midsummer sway. 

The afternoon beams fell through the 
half-closed shutters of a modest apartment 
where a delicate boy of about twelve was 
propped up in an invalid chair, close to the 
window, where he might catch a wander- 
ing breath of air. He was languidly draw- 
ing on a slate for the little sister leaning 
against his knee. 

“There is your ship, Tot,” he said, as 
his thin fingers put the last touch to his 
work. “Full sail, all flags flying, and — 
7 


8 


SHIPMATES 


off” — there was a wistful note in his voice 
— “off to sea.” 

“Oh, Pip, no! That isn’t a right ship 
at all,” said his small critic disapprovingly. 
“There ought to be smoke puffing, and a 
railing with little girls behind it, and two 
teachers with parasols. And lots, oh, lots 
of bananas and cake and ice cream. I want 
a ’scursion ship, Pip.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t draw an excursion 
ship, Tot.” Pip’s fair head, with its fine 
crop of short curls, sank back wearily on 
his pillow. “I’m tired now.” 

“You’re mean,” pouted Tot, who was a 
rosy, chubby little person of five. “You’re 
not tired a bit. You haven’t been to school 
or done anything all day, Pip, and I’ve 
been to the kindergarten, marching and 
singing, and ‘ringing around rosy/ and 
making clay forts, and ’broidering blue 
elephants, and I ain’t tired a bit.” 

“No,” said Pip (or, as the baptismal 
register proclaimed him, Philip Penrose 
Parker), “I don’t believe you were ever 
tired in your life. Stand up, Tot, won’t 


PIP 


9 


you? I feel as if you weighed about five 
hundred pounds leaning on my knee. And 
I’m not — not very strong yet,” he added 
with a little gasp, as Tot relieved the pres- 
sure somewhat by dropping on the has- 
sock at his feet. 

“Is it bad not to be strong, Pip?” she 
asked with sudden solemnity. 

“Oh, not very bad,” he answered cheer- 
fully. 

“Because when the doctor told Milly 
that she cried,” said Tot, looking up into 
his face. 

“Cried!” echoed Pip. “Milly cried! 
Milly — about me?” 

“Yes,” Tot nodded with the terrible 
truthfulness of her years, “about you.” 
Because we haven’t any money and can’t 
go way out of the hot — and you’ll have to 
die like poor Papa ” 

“Die!” said Pip in a startled voice, 
“Die! Did Milly say I was going to die, 
Tot?” 

An old woman just coming into the 
room with a glass of milk caught the 
sharp, strained question. 


10 


SHIPMATES 


“Die, is it? Die, darling! What sort 
of foolish talk is that?” 

“Oh, Judy!” Pip turned a pair of 
starry eyes wide with dismay on the new- 
comer. “Tot says Milly was crying about 
me. Crying! About me, Jjudy, because 
— because I am going — to die” 

“Die!” repeated Judy with a cackling 
laugh that her tender eyes belied. “Die, 
indeed! Where did the child pick up such 
nonsense. Die! Much ye look like it 
now. I wonder at ye, lad, to be minding 
the talk of a babbling babe like Tot.” 

“Milly said,” persisted Tot with fun- 
ereal gravity, “that if we didn’t get out of 

the hot Pip wouldn’t ever ” 

“Hush now,” interrupted Judy quick- 
ly. “Isn’t that the organ-man I hear be- 
low? Him with the monkey in the red 
cap? You’ll find a nickel in the cracked 
tea-cup to make friends with him. Off 
with ye quick now to stop him or he’ll be 
gone.” 

“Oh, yes, yes.” Tot sprang up glee- 
fully. “You take care of Pip now, Judy.” 


PIP 


11 


And she was out of the room in a 
bound. 

“And it’s a grand caretaker you are,” 
laughed the old woman grimly as she put 
the glass of milk into Pip’s thin, shaking 
hand. “She’ll not get in to ye again, lad, 
this evening with her picturing and her 
monkey chatter; but, what sense can we 
look for in a five-year-old? I’ll draw the 
shutter to keep out the sun and ye can lie 
back and rest till Milly comes back from 
her school. Won’t you finish the sup of 
milk, darling?” 

“No,” said Pip, putting the glass aside; 
“I can’t, Judy. It don’t — don’t taste 
good any more. I’m tired of milk — tired 
of — of every t’ing. I’ll just shut my eyes 
and rest.” 

Judy took the glass and stood looking 
for a moment at the pale young face, the 
closed waxen lids, with a dull pang of 
foreboding ; then, drawing down the 
blinds softly, she stole out of the room 
and back to her ironing, whilst big tears 
dropped from her dim old eyes onto the 
fluffy ruffles of Miss Tot’s best muslin 


SHIPMATES 


12 

frock, for of all the nurslings to whom she 
had clung through fortune and misfor- 
tune, Pip held the warmest and deepest 
place in her faithful heart — the bold, 
brave, little lad — who seemed fading 
slowly but surely away. 

He lay back in his cushioned chair, feel- 
ing very tired, indeed. It seemed to him 
he was growing more tired every day — 
not sick — oh, not at all! He had been 
quite well for two or three months now, 
but just tired all the time. And the days 
were so long and bright and hot now — 
and the nights so close and breathless in 
these little rooms where no breeze ever 
came, night or day. Milly, darling Milly, 
often sat beside his chair and fanned him 
for hours; but a “fan” breeze was not at 
all like the real thing, and, then, it was 
a little hard on Milly to sit up and fan a 
fellow after she had been teaching in a 
close school room all day. 

Oh! how hot it was! Pip’s head turned 
restlessly on his pillow. How very tired 
he was — but not sick, oh, not at all! Milly 


PIP 


13 


could not have been crying about him be- 
cause he was “tired.” Tot had it wrong — 
no one thought he was going to die. And 
then a sudden remembrance of his small 
sister’s keen eyes and quick ears made 
him doubt again. If Milly had been cry- 
ing about him indeed! If he were never 
going to be real strong again, like other 
boys — if — if — he were going to — die. A 
big fly humming by the closed shutters 
seemed to drone the word into his ear — 
die! die! die! He started up on his pillow 
panting — all a-tremble with a chilling 
fear, when suddenly the organ in the street 
below that had been grinding rather dole- 
fully a German waltz, burst into the rol- 
licking strains of “Nancy Lee,” and the 
“Sailor Song” that the big boys of the 
boat club at St. John’s School had adapt- 
ed to the music, seemed to break in upon 
the fancied whisper of doom: 


Oh, a sailor’s life, it is the life for me, 

Yo ho, my lads, yo ho! 

With swelling sail to rove the wide blue sea, 
Heave ho, my lads, heave ho ! 


14 


SHIPMATES 


As the spirited if somewhat squeaky 
notes rose from below they seemed to bear 
a glad, stirring breath like the puff of salt 
wind in the sails of the ship he had drawn 
for Tot half an hour ago. 

He sank back again on his pillow, his 
fluttering pulse steadying to the cheery 
beat of the music: 

Oh, a sailor’s life, it is the life for me, 

Yo ho, my lads, yo ho! 

With swelling sail to rove the deep blue sea, 

With swelling — with swelling — sail — 
with — swelling — sail 

With the red-capped monkey clutching 
Tot’s nickel, the organ was wheezing 
away in the distance, but its work was 
done; the notes of “Nancy Lee” fell on 
an unconscious ear. Pip had been — 
soothed asleep. 

On the sidewalk below Miss Tot was 
still twirling on her chubby legs to the 
music of the vanishing organ, when she 
felt a light touch upon her shoulder that 
made her pause. Her older sister, who 


PIP 


15 


did not approve of street ballets even for 
young ladies of five, was looking down on 
her with reproachful eyes — very lovely 
eyes they were, with a starry gleam like 
Pip’s hiding in the violet depths that were 
fringed with long dark lashes. But the 
fair face they lit was pale and a trifle 
worn. These are hard dull ways that steal 
the bloom even from two and twenty, and 
Mildred Parker had trodden them bravely 
and lovingly since she was eighteen, when 
her orphaned sister and brother had been 
left in her tender care. 

“Oh, Tot, darling, what are you doing 
out here? The sun is so hot yet and ” 

“Judy sent me,” said Tot with the con- 
fidence of the right-doer. “I was taking 
care of Pip real good and Judy gave 
me a nickel for the monkey and told me to 
come out.” 

“Is — is Pip worse?” asked Milly, cast- 
ing a frightened glance at the closed shut- 
ters high above her. 

“Yes,” replied Tot, feeling it was wise 
to add to the importance of the situation. 


16 


SHIPMATES 


“I guess he is worse. He was too tired 
even to draw a ’scursion ship. I drawed 
a whole house this morning with a chim- 
ney and a front door, and I’m only five.” 

The captured Tot was dancing by her 
sister’s side now up the apartment stair 
(elevators being luxuries beyond the Par- 
ker’s rent). 

“Oh, I’m afraid you’ve been bothering 
your poor sick brother, Tot,” said Milly, 
anxiously. 

“No, I haven’t; I haven’t bothered him 
one bit,” was the much aggrieved reply. 
“I got him a drink of water and fished 
the fly out of the glass so he could drink 
it and I stood by his chair real quiet and 
let him draw on my slate. And I told him 
how you cried all night ’cause you couldn’t 
take him out of the hot ” 

“Told him I cried all night!” Milly 
paused in dismay on the landing. “Oh, 
Tot, how did you know?” 

“I waked up,” said the small eavesdrop- 
per frankly. “I felt the wet on the pillow. 
I heard you tell the Doctor you were 


PIP 


17 


afraid Pip was going to die, like Papa.” 

“And — and — you told him that, too,” 
gasped Milly in horror. “Oh, you dread- 
ful, dreadful — baby!” she added, the 
angry flame dying out of her eyes as she 
met the bewildered look in the innocent 
upturned face. “No wonder Judy turned 
you out, no wonder the poor dear boy is 
worse this evening — no wonder — Oh! — I 
must see to him right away. Tot, dearie, 
there is Daisy Bell watching for you,” said 
the anxious girl as she descried the little 
neighbor in the next apartment peeping 
through her open door. 

“Run and play with her until I call 
you, pet.” 

The unconscious little mischief-maker 
darted gleefully away, while Milly hur- 
ried in with a beating heart to see what 
harm had been done to her darling boy. 

But Judy met her in the little hall with 
uplifted finger. 

“Hush, hush, darling! Don’t be dis- 
turbing him. I’ve just been in to take a 
look at him. He is sleeping like a babe.” 


18 


SHIPMATES 


Milly slipped into Judy’s tiny kitchen 
and closed the door. 

“Oh, Judy, Judy!” she murmured with 
a choked sob as she dropped trembling 
into the one chair, “what has happened? 
What did Tot tell him, Judy?” 

“A deal more than it was good for him 
to know,” answered the old woman with 
a nod. “Ah, but he has the bold brave 
heart, the darling lad, though he was sore 
frightened, as I could see, at the little 
magpie’s chatter about dying like his poor 
father died.” 

“Oh, Judy! How did Tot ever hear 
that?” asked Milly despairingly. “She 
was at the other end of the room playing 
with her doll when I told the doctor what 
I feared, and he said that Pip was failing 
indeed — and — and — ” the sweet voice 
broke in a sob 

“And it doesn’t take a doctor’s eye to 
see that,” assented Judy. “He’s fading 
away like the snow wreath at the touch 
of the sun. It’s the heat, darling, this 
murdering American heat. The first year 


PIP 


19 


I was out of the old country it was near 
killing me. I’d wake in the burning nights 
panting for the breath of the sea, the soft 
drip of the Irish rain. If we could get 
the lad off to old Ireland he would bloom 
out again like the flowers in May.” 

“But we can’t,” replied Milly tremul- 
ously. “We can’t go away with him any- 
where, and I can’t send him away with 
strangers, Judy, to — die — perhaps.” 

“Ah, no, no, no! You couldn’t, dar- 
ling, you couldn’t, I know. I wouldn’t 
rest a night myself with the little lad out 
of my sight and reach. But isn’t there 
some bit of a place where we could all go 
together when the school breaks up next 
week — some nice, quiet place where he 
could get a breath of the strong salt air?” 

“Oh if he could — if he could — but, 
Judy, we can’t, can't afford it,” faltered 
Milly hopelessly. “There were the doc- 
tor’s bill and the druggist’s bill to pay, 
and the nurse while he was so very sick. 
And our little flat is leased by the year, 
and we have to pay the rent. I’ve done 


20 


SHIPMATES 


my best, Judy, but — but ” Milly 

buried her face in her hands and sobbed 
outright. 

“God knows ye have, darling; an angel 
from the skies could do no more,” said the 
old woman tenderly. “Listen now to what 
I tell ye. I’ve a bit of money that I’ve 
saved for my burying ” 

“I won’t touch it!” said Milly passion- 
ately. 

“Wait now till ye hear,” continued 
Judy. “I’ve got the life and strength in 
me for many a day yet, and, if I hadn’t 
what call has an old woman to be think- 
ing of her burying when there’s a lad like 
that pining for the breath of life? And 
what good would the price of a silk-cush- 
ioned coffin be to me if he was gone? Now, 
don’t be saying a word.” 

From the depths of a capacious pocket 
Judy brought out a bank book. “There’s 
two hundred dollars in that as good as 
gold. Take it, darling, and save my little 
lad.” 

“Oh, Judy, Judy, I can’t!” sobbed 


PIP 


21 


Milly. “After you have been working 
and striving all these years — to take your 
little all!” 

“And it will be the mortal sin of anger 
that will rise in me, if ye talk like that,” 
said Judy, her withered face kindling. 
“There, he is waking now; he is calling. 
Go in to him — look at him, at his eyes 
shining like stars, and the white lily of his 
cheek, and the tremble of his hands like 
wings fluttering before they fly. Go look 
at him and say whether you’ll keep him 
here, or let him go.” 

But Judy’s indignant outburst was lost 
in empty air. Milly had already flown to 
her little brother’s side. He had started 
up from his pillow with the flushed cheeks 
and starry eyes that always made her 
loving heart sink. 

“You called, darling?” she asked. 

“Did I?” he said with a little laugh as 
he fell back among his pillows. “I was 
dreaming, Milly, the finest kind of a 
dream. I was out in a boat with the breeze 
blowing, and the waves dancing, and the 


SHIPMATES 


22 

sails swelling in the wind. And I was 
singing the song the boys used to sing at 
St. John’s: 

A sailor’s life, it is the life for me! 

Yo ho, my lads, yo ho! 

“Ah, it was a nice dream,” repeated 
Pip with a little low, weak laugh. “I’m 
sorry I woke up.” 

“Go to sleep and dream it over again, 
then,” said his sister, smoothing his brow 
with a tender hand. 

“Oh, I can’t!” he sighed softly. “You 
can’t dream the same thing twice. But it 
was a great dream. It seemed as if I 
could almost sniff the salt breeze. You 
see I’ve been drawing ship pictures for 
Tot, and then the organ man came along 
and played ‘Nancy Lee,’ and — and I’ve 
always liked sea pictures and sea stories. 
I suppose it’s the old grandad in me com- 
ing out. Get me a glass of cool water, 
won’t you, Milly? It’s so hot.” 

Milly got the water, noting with a pang 
at her tender heart how the wasted hand 


PIP 


ss 


that took the glass trembled, as Judy had 
said, like a young wing fluttering for 
flight.” 

“I’ll move your chair, darling, and open 
the shutter so that you can get some air.” 

“The air is hot too,” he said wearily. 
“If I could get just a puff of that breeze 
I was dreaming about — just one puff. 
Why, I could feel it, Milly, lifting my 
hair and blowing on my cheeks and chirk- 
ing me up straight through. Now I’m all 
down and out again, all down and out, 
Milly.” The young voice took a sudden 
new tone. “What is the matter with me, 
anyhow?” 

“You’re weak still, darling — weak and 
a little feverish sometimes. You were 
very sick last winter, you know, and it 
takes some time to get quite well.” 

“Will I ever get quite — quite well?” 
asked Pip seriously. 

“Why, what a foolish, foolish question,” 
laughed Milly out of her breaking heart. 
“Of course you will get well,” and as she 
gave the cheering promise there came to 


SHIPMATES 


U 

the tender speaker an anguished thought 
of that Home where all are well indeed. 
“You’re tired and hot this evening, and I 
don’t wonder. Shut your eyes and I’ll 
fan you into another sea-dream.” 

And Milly sat and fanned until Pip 
drifted off again from the weakness and 
weariness of earth into a dream world 
of rest. Then his sister rose, stole softly 
from the room, and burst tempestuously 
into the kitchen. 

“Oh, Judy, darling, you’re right, you’re 
right I” she sobbed, flinging her soft young 
arms about the old woman’s neck. “We 
must take your money and go, oh, I don’t 
know where or how, but we must go away 
and save him, Judy, save our Pip.” 


CHAPTER II 

A FLIGHT FOR LIFE 

I T WAS a thrilling week that fol- 
lowed this decision. Pip was roused 
into feverish excitement, Tot talked ships 
and “ ’scursion boats” in his sleep, even 
Judy was all a-tremble, as she said, to be 
off. But the “little place” for which Milly 
was scanning advertising columns and 
scouring real estate offices was still beyond 
their reach. It was the height of the 
season, and the wide stretches of wave- 
washed shore were peopled with pleasure 
seekers. All places that were not already 
taken were too far or too costly for their 
slender means. 

When the freckle-nosed boy in the 
great office of Raynor and Raynor whirled 
around on his stool to face Milly for the 
fourth time he jumped alertly to his feet. 
“We’ve something on this morning, miss 
— a sublet.” 


25 


26 


SHIPMATES 


“Oh, where?” was the eager question. 

“Down on the Virginia shore, miss; 
Carter’s Cove they call it. Four-room 
shack, full furnished, spring cots, screens, 
porch all around, hunting, fishing, boat- 
ing; $100 for the sublease,” rattled off the 
speaker as in business duty bound; then 
dropping his voice to a lower tone, he 
added: “But don’t you be gulled into 
taking it, miss. I’m letting you in. Don’t 
take it for nothing, miss.” 

“Oh, why — why not?” asked Milly. 

“T’other family moved out in a week 
after paying season’s rent in advance,” 
went on this freckle-faced friend in cau- 
tious warning. “Said they’d rather be on 
a cannibal island at once. Wild and lonely 
ain’t no name for it; might do for a lot of 
hunters, but you best let it alone. Noth- 
ing but fishermen and oystermen around 
— not a respectable family within five 
miles.” 

“Oh, I don’t care for that at all,” said 
the young lady desperately. “Is it 
healthy, do you think?” 


A FLIGHT FOR LIFE 


n 


“Healthy !” chuckled Freckle-face, “with 
the whole wide Atlantic stretching before 
you! Lord, miss, nobody dies down there 
unless they’re drowned or killed in a fight. 
There ain’t nothing to die with — it all 
blows away.” 

“And a hundred dollars for the season, 
you say. I’ll take it,” said Milly reck- 
lessly, and as she thought of the wan little 
face by the burning heat of the window 
she drew out her pocket-book. “I’ll take 
it now and here.” 

“You will!” gasped Freckle-face in 
honest dismay; but before he could voice 
further warning a dapper young gentle- 
man who had caught the young lady’s 
decisive word stepped promptly up to 
close the bargain, and the deed was done. 
One hundred dollars of the “burying 
money” was paid down at once, and the 
“little shack” at Carter’s Cove, with its 
doubtful surroundings was rented for the 
season, and Milly was tripping joyously 
back to Pip with the signed “agreement” 
in her hand. 


SHIPMATES 


£8 


Scarcely had her dainty white skirt flut- 
tered out of the office when a big brown 
and very broad-shouldered young gentle- 
man sauntered lazily in. “Strike that 
shack of mine off your list, will you, 
please?’’ he said, flicking the ash off a 
monogrammed cigar. “I want it my- 
self.” 

There was a momentary pause of dis- 
may. Evidently this broad-shouldered 
young gentleman was a person of some 
importance. 

“Awful sorry, Mr. Robert, but we’ve 
just rented it,” said the dapper clerk 
apologetically. 

“Rented it!” echoed the young gentle- 
man; “rented it! Why, you told me the 
people had thrown up their lease only last 
night.” 

“I know, sir, but we rented it this morn- 
ing — not half an hour ago!” 

“Thunderation!” Mr. Robert Livings- 
ton Raynor, millionaire master of this and 
a score of other big offices, flung away his 
half -burned cigar with the fierce imp a- 


A FLIGHT FOR LIFE 


29 


tience of one unused to contradiction. 
“Who has taken it?” 

“A young lady, sir.” 

“A young lady! A young lady ! Why, 
what in the name of all that is idiotic 
would take a young lady to Carter’s 
Cove? Did you tell her what sort of a 
place it is?” 

“I did, sir,” piped up Freckle-face, feel- 
ing here was his chance to make a strike. 
“I told her how it was wild and lonely, 
with only oyster men and fisher folk 
around, and no ’spectable family any- 
where near. I told her all, sir, but she 
didn’t care. She has a sick brother, she 
says, and he has got to go to the seashore, 
and she could not pay very much 
rent.” 

“Oh, she couldn’t,” said Mr. Robert 
drily. “I see. It was the cheap rent, then, 
that caught her. Maybe we can fix that. 
Write to her. Daly,” he turned to the 
rent clerk, “you’ve got her address. Offer 
her $100 bonus if she will give up the 
lease — $100 cash down. I’m dead sick of 


30 


SHIPMATES 


things about here and want to be out in 
the wilds again, so get me my shack.” 

“I’ll try, sir,” answered Daly. “A hun- 
dred dollars bonus ought to do it. But it 
seems to me you could, find pleasanter 
wilds than Carter’s Cove.” 

“Perhaps,” said the gentleman, light- 
ing another cigar. “Still, I’ve tried most 
places — Europe, Asia, Africa, China, 
Japan — all pretty much the same. Every- 
body salaaming, bootlicking for my shek- 
els. They’re a dull set of savages at the 
Cove, if I remember- right, and as I have 
not been there for four or five years, they 
won’t either know or care for me, so get 
me my shack. I’ll go off there and be a 
savage with the rest.” 

There was rapturous preparation at the 
Parker’s little flat. Milly had come home 
to find Pip lying so faint and weak by the 
breathless window that she decided there 
must be no delay. Her school work was 
done, the place secured. They must leave 
in the boat to-night. The sick boy roused 


A FLIGHT FOR LIFE 31 

into new life and strength at the very 
thought.” 

Tot was dancing about with her doll 
“Polly Flinders” under her arm in a state 
of wild excitement. “Polly Flinders’ ” 
stout rag body and leather legs had sur- 
vived the vicissitudes of doll life that had 
already cost her two heads. She was wear- 
ing her third now, fastened on by Judy a 
trifle askew, but very gay with a yellow 
wig and pink hair ribbon. 

“Oh, I’m going boating, too, can’t I, 
Milly? Daisy Bell goes a-boating. She 
has an uncle that is a pirate.” 

“Oh, not a pirate, Tot,” laughed Pip. 

“Yes, a pirate. I guess Daisy Bell is 
my best friend and wouldn’t tell me 
stories. He has a nice boat all his own 
and he is a real good uncle, and gave 
Daisy Bell a gold neck chain. “Will there 
be any pirates where we are, Pip?” 

“I guess not,” answered Pip, who was 
sipping a bowl of chicken broth with new 
appetite already. “But there will be 
boats, Tot, and great stretches of sand to 


32 


SHIPMATES 


run and play in, and waves rolling up 
where we can wade and splash. I can 
almost hear them now ; and the breeze, the 
cool, cool breeze blowing in from the 
wide sea, and the blue sky stretching 
everywhere, with no walls or roofs to 
shut it out. Oh, Tottie, it seems most 
too good to be true. I didn’t think 
Milly world ever get a fine place like 
this.” 

And Milly, bending over the little trunk 
she was packing, listened to the happy 
chatter with a glad beat in her heart. 
What or where Carter’s Cove might be 
she did not know or care; as long as it 
held health and hope and life for Pip she 
asked nothing more. 

“There, I’ve got everything in,” she 
said, lifting her pretty flushed face. “And 
there’s room for the fishing rod and your 
air-gun, Pip. What is it, Judy? A letter, 
you say, a letter for me?” 

“The boy is waiting without for an 
answer,” said Judy, presenting a business- 
like envelope. 


A FLIGHT FOR LIFE 


S3 


Milly tore it open nervously and 
scanned the contents. 

“I won’t do it,” she burst forth pas- 
sionately. “I won’t, I won’t.” 

“You wont do what, darling?” asked 
J udy in bewilderment. 

“Give up my lease — give up the place — 
give up Pip’s health and life — for one 
hundred dollars,” cried Milly, her soft 
eyes flashing. 

“Sure we won’t, we won’t, darling. 
Who’s asking it?” 

“Mr. Raynor,” said Milly, her sweet 
voice trembling. “Mr. Robert L. Raynor, 
the great, rich, mighty Mr. Robert Ray- 
nor, who can pay for anything, who has 
the whole wide world to choose from, 
wants the one poor little place his clerks 
have rented to me.” 

And Milly’s soft eyes flamed with in- 
dignation; she did not stop to think that 
this unknown millionaire’s offer might put 
other places than Carter’s Cove within her 
reach; she only felt that his selfish whim 
would keep her fast-failing boy longer in 


34 


SHIPMATES 


this deadly heat — rob him of his one feeble 
chance of health and life. 

So it was a flushed, breathless, very de- 
termined young lady that burst into the 
little sitting-room where Freckle-face 
waited, appraising the situation and de- 
ciding that Mr. Robert’s one hundred 
dollars would be taken “in a jump.” 

“You brought me this letter,” said 
Milly briefly. “You can take my answer 
back in one word. It is no! Simply and 
decidedly no!” 

“No. Freckle-face stared. “You 
won’t give up the lease — not for a hun- 
dred dollars?” 

“Not for a hundred — not for five hun- 
dred,” was the impetuous answer. “It 
means life or death to my little brother to 
get to the seashore at once. We leave for 
Carter’s Cove to-night.” 


CHAPTER III 


A FLITTING 

A ND they left as Milly decreed. It 
was a cheering flitting for the Ocean 
Queen was making an excursion trip down 
the coast with a gay crowd of pleasure- 
seekers. 

With flags flying and band playing her 
engines beat their swift way out into dark- 
blue depths of distance where earth van- 
ished and there was only swelling waves 
and starlit sky. 

Stretched out comfortably on his 
steamer chair, the soft rug Milly had 
brought for him tucked around his knees, 
the cool wind fanning his cheeks and lifting 
his hair, Pip listened to the merry, chatter- 
ing voices, the pulsing music, feeling as if 
it were all some delightful dream, a dream 
that followed him down to the stateroom, 
where the little window stood open over 
his berth. The salt breeze swept in un- 
35 


36 


SHIPMATES 


challenged and the stars looked down on 
him as, with a new drowsiness unknown 
for weeks, he fell asleep over his half-said 
prayers. 

In the first flush of the summer morn- 
ing they reached Winston’s wharf, the 
nearest point to their destination in the 
steamer’s route. There, as the captain 
had informed Milly, she could hire a little 
sailboat that would take them the dozen 
miles or so to the Cove. They found old 
Uncle Tobe, a “befo’-de-wah” darkey, 
waiting for the job, and through a light 
veil of lifting fog they drifted in his little 
fishing boat to their unknown home. 

The sea was all a-shimmer with rose 
and gold, the breeze that puffed Uncle 
Tobe’s ragged sail had a tonic in its briny 
breath that no chemist could bottle. Pip, 
who had eaten an early breakfast on the 
steamboat with astonishing relish, sat up 
against a coil of rope without pillow or 
prop. 

“Youse all gwine ter stay at Carter’s 
Cove?” questioned Uncle Tobe. 


A FLITTING 


37 


“Yes, all summer — three whole months,” 
answered Pip cheerily. 

“Mouty lonesomeish ’long dar,” said the 
old man with a nod. 

“Oh, we don’t mind that,” was the 
bright answer. 

“Mouty roughish, too,” continued Uncle 
Tobe. “De waters bile outen dat Cove 
bad as round de Capes when dar’s a 
storm.” 

“But we won’t go out in the storms,” 
laughed Pip undismayed. 

“And dem ister men,” went on Uncle 
Tobe, “is de worstest for fighting and kill- 
ing ’long dis coast.” 

“Oh, but they won’t fight us, I am 
sure,” said Pip. 

“Mebbe they won’t,” said Uncle Tobe, 
surveying his passengers dubiously; “but 
you bes’ keep clar ob ’em, chile, you bes’ 
keep clar ob dem ister folks, shurely.” 

“What are ye croaking about, ye old 
black crow, ye?” said Judy. “The Holy 
Mother is watching over us and will keep 


38 


SHIPMATES 


us from all harm. Though it’s the wild 
desert of a place, God knows.” 

For the lifting mists showed them a 
shore bare and desolate indeed ; wide 
sandy beaches on which, save for the dip- 
ping wing of some sea bird, there was no 
sign of life; long, low reefs jutting out 
into the leaping waves, lines of yellow 
sand dunes gleaming in the morning sun. 
No green or growing thing in sight, only 
the barren beach and the wide-stretching 
sea. 

Then suddenly through the breaking 
fog there came the clear, sweet stroke of a 
bell. “Camp Zavery,” said old Tobe, his 
dull face brightening at the sound. 

“Dat means good luck for dis niggah; 
I shuah kin sell all de watermillions and 
canterlupes I gets from up de shore now. 
Camp Zavery open dis year, hi-ye-ye!” 

“What — where is Camp Zavery?” 
asked Pip eagerly. But there was no need 
of an answer, for the little sailboat 
rounded a jutting reef as he spoke and 
Camp Zavery burst into view — a dozen 


A FLITTING 


39 


tents dotting the sandy shore. Above a 
central marquee rose a rudely constructed 
belfry, whose crowning cross blazed in the 
morning sun, while from a flagstaff fur- 
ther out on the beach fluttered the Stars 
and Stripes in friendly unison with a blue 
and white banner bearing the inscription 
“Camp Xavier, Summer Boys’ Brigade, 
No. 1.” 

“Camp Xavier — Xavier ” said Milly. 
“It’s Catholic, then. And oh, listen, 
listen! They are all in the big tent 
singing.” 

“Yes, ’um,” answered Tobe, nodding, 
“dey sings morning and ebening rig’lar, 
sings and prays. But arter dat,” the old 
man chuckled, “arter dat dem boys sees de 
fun shuah. Boating, fishing, ball play- 
ing, swimming, dar ain’t nuffin dem Camp 
Zavery boys ain’t at de long day troo.” 

“Oh, can’t we stop?” asked Pip, quite 
a-tremble with eagerness. “Can’t we stop 
here just a little while, Milly? I’d like to 
see some of the fun, too.” 

“Not now, darling, not now,” was the 


40 


SHIPMATES 


gentle rejoinder. “We must get in to 
Carter’s Cove. Some day when you are 
stronger you can come back with Uncle 
Tobe. It is not very much further now, 
is it?” she asked the old man. 

“Good five miles, missy,” was the old 
man’s reply. “A good long five miles, 
but we’ve cotched de wind now and we’ll 
get dar soon.” 

And with the “cotched” wind in the 
ragged sail the little boat swept away 
from the singing voices and chiming bell 
of Camp Xavier into the vast, silent 
spaces of sand and sea again. Tot, un- 
used to such early rising, had fallen asleep 
with her curly head in Judy’s lap and 
“Polly Flinders” tightly clasped in a 
chubby arm, but there was not a wink in 
Pip’s eyes now. 

That brief glimpse of Camp Xavier had 
quickened every boyish instinct into new 
life. Uncle Tobe, half dozing at his helm, 
was pumped mercilessly. 

“How many boys were at de camp he 
didn’t know — ’spec’ about twenty or 


A FLITTING 


41 


forty; dey come from de town and de 
school and dar was teachers along wif dem 
— teachers wot dey called fathers and 
brothers, and Uncle Tobe’s old woman had 
been dar one summer helping to cook, and 
said they had fine eatings — watermillions, 
canterlupes, peaches by the boatload, 
cornbread and chickens, clam bakes and 
fish fries — everything good.” Uncle Tobe, 
quite warmed up by the glories of Camp 
Zavery, talked on until the bare, desolate 
coast suddenly took an inward curve, and 
there, sheltered by a ridge of high sand 
dunes, stood a broad, low-roofed little 
house that with its red-peaked roof, 
stretching out on all sides, to shelter a 
wide porch, its dormer windows blinking 
in the sunlight, its pillars and balustrade 
of rough-barked pines, looked like a big 
toy dropped on these wild wastes by a 
heedless child. 

“Dar’s your place, miss,” said old Tobe, 
turning his boat to a very small wharf 
that jutted out from the low, smooth 
stretch of sand. 


42 


SHIPMATES 


There was a general exclamation of de- 
light from his passengers. Even Tot 
started up from her nap to rub her eyes 
and stare. 

“Ah, but it’s pretty,” said Pip. “No- 
body could want a nicer place than that.” 

“Nice nuff, for shuah,” said Uncle Tobe 
grimly. “Pooty nuff, too, wif de sun 
shining and de sea laughing, but wait till 
de night draps and de storm rides and de 
sea biles. Dar ain’t nuffin’ nice or pooty 
’bout dis place den.” 

But the old man’s warning words fell 
lightly even on Milly’s ears. As the boat 
was “hitched” to the wharf and they all 
stepped out on the sunlit sands, with their 
new home flashing gay welcome from 
every one of its quaint little windows. No 
rough streets to cross, no high stairs to 
climb here. With only Milly’s slight arm 
about his waist for support, Pip took his 
way easily over the smooth, shelving beach 
to the house. And what a surprising little 
house it was that opened to the touch of 
Milly’s key ! If we must confess the truth, 


A FLITTING 


43 


that young lady’s brave, loving heart had 
been sinking steadily for the last two hours 
as Uncle Tobe’s ragged sail had swept her 
little flock along the wild stretches of this 
unknown shore. 

She had expected she scarcely knew 
what — some rude, wretched little cabin 
like those she had caught glimpses of here 
and there as they passed, but nothing, oh, 
nothing like this ! Polished floors and soft 
hued rugs, sea-green walls hung with 
charcoal and pencil sketches, a wide stone 
chimney-place that could fill the whole 
house with warmth and glow, long, low 
bookcases, big, soft-cushioned chairs, a 
great couch heaped high with gay pillows. 

The snug little kitchen behind was com- 
plete in every detail, the woodshed had 
been filled by the late occupants, who had 
taken such hurried flight, the two little 
bedrooms with their spring cots were all 
in the trim nautical order of a well-kept 
ship. 

Uncle Tobe brought up the trunks that 
had been part of the Sally Ann's cargo, 


U SHIPMATES 

kindled a fire in the kitchen stove, peered 
up the great chimney to see that it was all 
“clar,” and with the cheering remark that 
you couldn’t hire him for no money to lib 
at dis Cove, started on his homeward 
voyage. As Milly stood on the porch 
watching the ragged sail dip out of sight, 
the one glimpse of life on the wide stretch 
of sea and shore, she felt they were alone 
indeed, as alone as if they were on the 
“desert isle” of song and story. But she 
had no reason to repent her bold venture. 
In two days Pip was already on his feet, 
in three he was “circumnavigating” the 
porch unaided, in six he was down on the 
beach, with a pile of cushions to rest on 
when there was need, but quite equal to 
taking a share in Miss Tot’s tours of in- 
vestigation. 

“Oh, Pip, Pip, look at that funny thing 
going sideways. Is that a fish or an 
oyster, Pip?” 

“No, goosie, it’s a crab,” laughed Pip. 
“And look out or it will nip you.” 

“Oh, it’s got a mouth in its leg. I never 


A FLITTING 


45 


knew anything had a mouth in its leg. I 
wish Daisy Bell could see it, ’cause she 
won’t believe it when I tell her, I know. 
Couldn’t we catch it and put it in a cage 
and take it home, Pip?” 

“We’ll see; we’re not going home for a 
long time yet,” said Pip with a full-drawn 
breath of the briny air. “Not for a long 
time — three whole months.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to stay here three 
whole months,” said Tot in quick dismay. 

“Why not? It’s a grand place, Tot. 
Just look there at the blue water stretch- 
ing far — far as you can see, and the waves 
foaming and flashing ; just feel that breeze ; 
we haven’t anything like this in town ; this 
is the finest thing you and I ever struck, 
Tot.” 

“No, it isn’t; it isn’t fine at all. There 
isn’t any ice cream or soda water. The 
man at the corner used to give me a nice 
little glass of soda water every day to say 
seven times seven for him, and there isn’t 
any organ-man or monkey, and Daisy 
Bell will be gone to her pirate uncle when 


46 


SHIPMATES 


I go back, and I’ll never see her any more 
unless she is grown up and married, and 
Polly Flinders has got a crack in her head 
that Milly can’t sew up. Poor Polly, she 
has to wear a lace cap all the time now to 
keep her head together, for she can’t get 
a new one down here.” 

“And we haven’t fished a bit,” con- 
tinued Miss Tot, seized with another 
grievance; “you said we were going to 
catch fish fries every morning for break- 
fast, and we have had ham and eggs every 
day.” 

“We’ll fish right now, then,” said Pip, 
realizing with boyish good nature that 
things might be dull for a lively young 
person like Tot. “Let me see; Milly said 
you must not go out on the wharf, for 
you’d surely tumble off into the water, 
and it’s too shallow here on the beach. If 
you’ll promise to keep right still, Tot, 
we’ll go sit on that old rowboat that is tied 
up to the wharf, and you can fish all you 
want.” 


A FLITTING 


47 


“Oh, I will, I will,” agreed Tot glee- 
fully. “I will sit still as a mouse.” 

The simple needfuls were soon pro- 
cured — a string, a bent pin, a bit of 
crooked stick from the beach, a scrap of 
meat to be picked up for bait. 

Milly was busy in the little kitchen 
“doing up” some dainty frills and laces, 
while Judy managed the heavier work; 
the soft voices of the children came 
through the open doorway, the sun was 
shining, a light breeze blowing, the ocean 
pulsing gently with an outgoing tide. All 
seemed safe and calm. 

The old flat-bottomed rowboat swing- 
ing lazily at its rope was not six feet from 
the shore. A rotten log fallen from the 
little wharf bridged the gap, and the 
young adventurers were soon happily 
settled in the roomy stern, Pip with two 
leathern pillows on which he could com- 
fortably nestle, for fishing, even with his 
papa’s rod and line, he had found was as 
yet beyond his returning strength. 

But it was serious business to Miss Tot. 


48 


SHIPMATES 


Even Polly Flinders with her precarious 
head was allowed to slip unmolested to the 
bottom of the boat, while the small fisher- 
man bent all her energies to the manage- 
ment of stick and pin and line. 

“Oh, I’ve got one now! I’ve got one! 
It’s pulling the string!” was the excited 
cry every two minutes, as twigs and sea 
weeds and bits of drift of every kind were 
drawn up with equal delight, while Pip, 
leaning back on his pillows, with the 
breeze lifting his hair, the gentle swell of 
the waves rocking the boat, listened to 
Tot’s baby chatter until it sank into an 
unmeaning murmur — and he drifted off, 
as he often did in these days of returning 
health, into a pleasant dream. 

A great white-winged ship was bearing 
him over a swelling sea, the sailors were 
singing as they unfurled the sails, swing- 
ing the white and blue pennants to the 
breeze : 

Oh, a sailor’s life, it is the life for me, 

Yo ho, my lads, yo ho ! 

With swelling sail to 


A FLITTING 


49 


“Pip ! Pip !” a shrill little cry broke in 
upon the old ditty. “Stop the boat, Pip; 
it’s running away! Stop it! Quick! 
Quick!” 

Pip started up from his dream, glanced 
around in bewilderment, caught his small 
sister by the shoulder as he cried out: 
“Sit — sit still, Tot; we’re off, indeed! The 
rope — where — how — what did you do?” 

“I throwed it out,” said Tot. “It got 
twisting up in my fishing line, Pip, and I 
untied it and throwed it out of the way. 
Oh, the boat’s running off with us, Pip! 
Stop it! Stop it, please! Polly Flinders 
has lost her cap and her head is cracking 
open and I’m tired of fishing. I want to 
go home.” 

The cry of the little mischief-maker 
rang helplessly in Pip’s ear as the boat 
lifted on the crest of a wave and he saw 
with speechless dismay the outgoing tide 
was sweeping them swiftly seaward. 

Already they were out of reach, out of 
hearing, out of help from the shore. 


CHAPTER IV 

ROVING ROB 

J UST outside the Cove at this same hour 
a taut little sailboat lay rocking idly 
in the sunlit waves, its occupants a big, 
roughly dressed young man and a big, 
shaggy-coated dog. They hsd been out 
all morning with the deep-sea fishermen, 
far beyond the bar, and had found it fine 
sport pulling in the nets and seines full of 
shining spoil. 

Now, stretched out on a pile of dingy 
canvas, the master of the Bouncing Bet 
gazed at his share of the morning’s catch, 
still gasping and fluttering at his feet. 

“I don’t know what I took them for, 
do you, Don?” he said to the dog watch- 
ing curiously beside him. “It would be 
a fine lark to go up the beach and sell them 
— at our own shack, perhaps. But I for- 
get; we haven’t any shack, Don; we 
couldn’t get it with all our money; funny, 
50 


ROVING BOB 


51 


wasn’t it, old chap? It’s the first time 
you and I ever wanted anything that our 
money couldn’t buy.” 

Don wagged his bushy tail, as he always 
did, at his master’s confidences and looked 
as if he were considering the matter 
gravely. “So we’re adrift, Don, without 
a home; we have only a bunk in old Sandy 
Brigg’s cabin; we’re a pair of vagabonds 
for the summer, you and I. We’re just — 
what did I tell old Sandy this morning 
when I hired the boat? We are Roving 
Rob and his dog Don out for deep-sea 
fishing this season. That’s all he needs to 
know, Don, and all we’re going to tell. 
He had his own opinion of us. I could see 
it in his old mariner’s eye. I am afraid it 
was not a very good opinion, but we don’t 
mind that; it doesn’t hurt our feelings at 
all. Meanwhile, as we’re safely out of 
sight of the other deep-sea fishers, we’ll 
dump our catch into the water and give 
them another chance. 

As he took up a great fluttering blue- 
fish to fling it back into the sea a succes- 


52 


SHIPMATES 


sion of shrill cries made him start into 
attention. Tossing over the shining waves 
came a flat-bottomed boat, with two chil- 
dren clutched tightly in each other’s arms, 
shrieking desperately for help, and with 
good reason, for the outgoing tide had 
carried them over the bar and was bearing 
the helpless little mariners swiftly out to 
sea. 

“Oh, catch us, catch our boat, please; 
we can’t stop it — catch us!” 

In a second the young man was on his 
feet. “Catch that!” he said, flinging a coil 
of rope deftly to the small runaways. 

“Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” came the de- 
spairing answer from the white-faced Pip. 
“I can’t let Tot go or she’ll drown — she’ll 
drown!” 

And at this dreadful word Tot took a 
tighter clutch on her brother’s neck and 
shrieked the louder. 

“By George!” muttered the young man 
in dismay, as the rowboat danced to the 
crest of a swelling wave. “The little fools 
will drown indeed,” and leaping into the 


ROVING BOB 


53 


water, a few strong strokes put him beside 
the helpless little sailors. It was but a 
moment’s work to fasten the rope he had 
flung to them and have their little craft 
safely in tow. But the boat had half filled 
with water from the cresting waves, the 
children were drenched from their swift 
passage through foam and spray. Their 
rescuer’s movements were prompt and 
decisive. “There, now, stop crying; 
you’re all right. I’ll take you aboard with 
me. Here, let go your brother, little girl.” 

“Oh, I’m afraid — I’m afraid,” wailed 
Tot, clinging to her one hold in this sway- 
ing, gleaming watery world. 

“Tot, let go,” said Pip, and even in his 
impatience with the little fool-baby the 
young rescuer noted the manly firmness 
in the boyish voice. “Take her, please; 
save her first ; don’t mind me.” 

But the strong-armed young swimmer 
made short work of the double transfer. 
In a few moments both the little adven- 
turers were safe on the Bouncing Bet and 
wrapped in the oilskins and canvas that 


54 < 


SHIPMATES 


were all its master could just now com- 
mand. 

After they had spluttered and choked 
over the fiery draught that was Roving 
Rob’s notion of first aid to the injured in 
such accidents, Pip explained the situ- 
ation. 

“You belong at my — at that shack — on 
Carter’s Cove?” was their new friend’s 
startled question. 

“Yes,” said Pip. “I’ve been right sick, 
you see, and the doctor said I must go 
away somewhere for the summer ” 

“Or he would die,” put in Miss Tot, 
with a solemn shake of her head. 

“Oh, I wasn’t as bad as that, Tot,” said 
Pip lightly. 

“Yes, you were. That was what Milly 
said,” continued Tot. “And she cried 
about it all night. And Judy took all her 
burying money and gave it to us to come 
here. And now she can’t have a nice 
coffin with silk cushions, but she don’t 
care a bit.” 

“Tot is such — such a baby,” explained 


ROVING BOB 


55 


Pip, his pale face flushing a little. “She 
tells everything. You see, Judy nursed me 
and Milly and all of us, and she had saved 
money for her funeral, and she let us have 
it to come here so I could get well. ,, 

“I see,” said his listener gravely. “It 
was very good of her, I am sure.” 

“Yes, it was,” said Pip. “Judy is 
always good.” 

“And she can make cookies and ginger- 
cake dainties,” added Tot, “and cinnamon 
bread. Judy is the goodest woman you 
ever saw.” 

“How is it this very good Judy let you 
run away?” was the question. 

“I didn’t run away. I never runned 
away in all my life,” replied Tot in a much 
injured tone. “It was the boat. Pip went 
to sleep and the rope got twisted in my 
fishing string, and I throwed the old rope 
away. I never want to go fishing any 
more unless I have a nice boat like this 
and a dog and a man. Are you a pirate 
like Daisy Bell’s uncle?” 

“She means a pilot,” said Pip. “Tot, 


56 


SHIPMATES 


of course he is not ; a pirate is a very bad 
man indeed.” 

“Oh, I don’t believe it! Daisy Bell’s 
uncle isn’t bad at all. He goes to church 
and says his prayers and is real good. 
And you are real good, too, I know,” and 
Miss Tot flashed an engaging glance into 
the sunburned face at her side. 

Altogether, acquaintance progressed 
rapidly as the Bouncing Bet beat her way 
back into the Cove against the wind. 

The young Parkers learned that their 
rescuer’s name was Rob — Roving Rob, his 
mates called him, and he lived down at the 
oyster wharf and went out deep-sea fish- 
ing every day. And he had no mother or 
father or sister or brother, but was quite 
alone — poor Roving Rob ! He had sailed 
everywhere — Asia and Africa, China, 
J apan, India, Alaska — but he was tired of 
sailing now. He thought he would stay 
home and fish. Maybe in a few months he 
would go off again to the North Pole or 
Patagonia, or some place quite far off ; he 
didn’t know or care much where. 


ROVING BOB 


57 


“And didn’t you ever have a real, real 
home?” asked Pip, quite stirred with sym- 
pathy at such a reckless career. 

“A real home,” repeated Roving Rob 
thoughtfully. 

“Like we have — over there,” said Pip 
with a nod toward the little red-roofed 
shack in the sunlit beach. 

“Oh, that’s your home, is it?” asked 
Roving Rob with an odd laugh. 

“It isn’t really our house,” explained 
Pip. “It belongs to some rich man in 
town. But with Milly there and Judy it’s 
home just the same — a real, real home.” 

And Roving Rob laughed again and 
said that was a good thing to have, though 
he did not know much about it himself, 
never having had a real home that he 
could remember. And he hoped they 
would have a fine time this summer — but 
not to try deep-sea sailing again in a flat- 
bottomed boat, unless they had somebody 
to look out for them. With this parting 
warning Roving Rob “jumped” his pas- 
sengers ashore, flung the “hawser” of their 


58 


SHIPMATES 


rowboat over one of the jutting logs of the 
wharf, and pushed hastily off, perhaps to 
avoid any embarrassing thanks from the 
young lady hurrying over the sands to 
meet her rescued treasures. 

For there had been a wild, despairing 
ten minutes for Milly when, running 
around from the kitchen at Pip’s waking 
cry, she had seen the loosened rowboat 
tossing on sunlit waves far beyond her 
reach. Then she had caught sight of the 
sail beyond the Cove, she had seen the 
plunge, the rescue, the safety of her dar- 
lings. It was a very white, shaken Milly 
that came fluttering down the beach, fol- 
lowed by Judy, equally breathless and ex- 
cited. 

In the tender flurry of joy and reproach 
and relief the gallant rescuer was for the 
moment quite forgotten. 

“Oh, my darlings, my darlings! Why, 
how did you break away like that? I 
thought you were gone — gone from me 
forever. Oh, Judy — Judy, they are wet 


ROVING BOB 


59 


to the skin! Pip will catch his death of 
cold/’ 

“No, I won’t, I won’t,” cried Pip 
bravely. “I’m not cold a bit, Milly. I’ve 
had a drink that nearly burned me up and 
been wrapped in canvas and rubber, and 
I’m warm — just as warm as toast.” 

“And I’m warm, too,” twittered Tot, 
“but my frock is all wet, Milly, and my 
shoes and my stockings, and Polly Flin- 
ders is wet, too, and her head will melt off, 
I know. Oh, I’ll never go fishing again in 
a runaway boat, Milly, I’ll never go fish- 
ing again!” 

“You won’t indeed. I’ll see to that,” 
said Judy decidedly. “With all your cap- 
ers I never thought harm could come to ye 
on a stretch of desert sand like this. Come 
back to the house now and get dry and 
warm.” 

And very soon, for Milly was wise in 
sweet mother ways, a big driftwood fire 
was burning in the stone chimney place, 
and Pip was snugly settled on the great 
leathern couch that was of the cushioned, 


60 


SHIPMATES 


comfortable kind in which men delight, 
while Tot, in the pink, wooly wrapper that 
her California grandma had sent her at 
Christmas, was safely seated on the bear- 
skin hearth rug doctoring Polly Flinders’ 
head. And Milly, still in a nervous flut- 
ter at the thought of the darlings’ peril, 
listened abstractedly as they chattered to 
her of Roving Rob. 

“He is a pirate,” said Tot, on whom 
the stories of Daisy Bell’s uncle had made 
deep and lasting impressions. 

“Tot, he is not,” interrupted Pip. “I 
told you that pirates were always very bad 
men, and Roving Rob is good. He 
jumped into the water and saved us. Oh, 
I’d like to give him something for it — not 
money. I don’t think he would like pay, 
Milly. But I could give him my silver 
medal that I got for Catechism last year. 
He wouldn’t mind taking a medal, would 
he, Milly? Lots of sailors and soldiers 
that do brave things get them.” 

“No, he wouldn’t mind taking a medal,” 
said Milly gently. “You can give him 


ROVING BOB 


61 


that, if you please, Pip, and maybe it will 
bring blessings on him and keep him from 
harm. Now you must not talk any more 
about this fright we’ve had. You’ll get 
nervous and feverish and won’t sleep a 
wink to-night, and you were getting so 
well and strong. Lie back on your pil- 
lows, dear, and I’ll get the mandolin and 
sing you off to sleep.” 

And Milly got out the pretty mandolin 
that was one of the relics of better days, 
and lightly touching its strings, sang soft, 
soothing little songs in the gathering twi- 
light — tender little songs that sent Pip 
drifting off into a happy dream world 
among his big cushions and made Tot’s 
curly head topple down on the big bear- 
skin in blissful baby sleep. 

And still Milly sang on, while the fire 
in the stone chimney blazed and crackled 
cheerily, filling the wide, low room with 
the rosy, blessed radiance of home. 

Far out on the starlit waters the 
Bouncing Bet rose and fell on the swell of 
the incoming tide, her master stretched 


62 


SHIPMATES 


on his pile of ragged sailcloth smoking the 
monogrammed cigar permitted in these 
hours of darkness, and looking up dream- 
ily at the summer sky, as odd scraps of the 
evening’s conversation with his small pas- 
sengers echoed in his mind. “To keep Pip 
from dying — Judy’s burying money — a 
real, real home. “Poor little beggars,” 
he said with a short laugh as he tossed 
away his cigar. “It’s lucky I caught them 
this evening or there would have been 
trouble in my shack. I don’t like to think 
about it ! I am glad they’ve got it, even if 
it does send us adrift, Don. I’m glad any 
roof-tree of mine is for once a real, real 
home.” 


CHAPTER V 

A BUSINESS VENTURE 

O H, Pip! Pip! We’ve flyed away 
in the night — we’ve flyed away up 
in the clouds!” was the startling announce- 
ment that greeted Pip when he opened his 
eyes next morning. He started up half 
awake among his pillows and stared out 
of the little diamond-paned windows, 
where Tot, in her pink, wooly wrapper, 
was perched on the broad, low sill, her blue 
eyes wide with dismay. 

They were in cloudland, indeed. Earth, 
sky, and sea had all vanished, even the 
slender pillars of the porch rose vague and 
shadowy in the white veil of the mist. 
“Oh, I didn’t do it,” said Tot, who after 
her experience of the previous day felt she 
might be held in some way accountable for 
this new disaster. “Milly! Milly!” and 
Tot ran to the dear guardian spirit who 
just entered the room. “We’ve flyed away 
63 


64 


SHIPMATES 


in the clouds. I want to go back — I want 
to go back — I don’t want to go to heaven 
yet!” 

And while Pip laughed and Milly 
soothed the little trembler, who was pre- 
pared for all sorts of strange adventures 
in this new world, the sun began to peep 
through the clouds, to Tot’s great delight, 
and the lost earth to take shape and form 
again. 

It was Judy’s “market” day, as she 
called it, though “market” was an empty 
name at Carter’s Cove. The nearest base 
of supplies was the oyster wharf, fully 
two miles distant, a long walk over bare 
sands, since none of the present little 
household could use the boat. 

But wiry old Judy, with her big market 
basket, had taken the tramp sturdily more 
than once. “It’s too hard on you, Judy, 
dear,” said Milly as the old woman pre- 
pared to start off again this morning. 
“We must find some other way to get our 
provisions. I think if I tried I could row 
the boat.” 


A BUSINESS VENTURE 


65 


“Is it a boat ye are thinking of after 
the heart scald we came near yesterday!” 
exclaimed Judy. “Never a boat will I 
trust unless there is a full-sized man to 
hold the oars. I’d rather tramp the sands 
till I drop.” 

“And you will drop with that heavy 
basket,” said Milly anxiously. 

“We have to eat,” said Judy with a nod 
as she tied on her bonnet. “But I’ll be 
looking around the wharf; maybe I can 
strike a bargain with some stout lad that 
will bring us the marketing in his boat 
when he has done with the day’s fishing.” 

“Oh, yes, Judy dear, do try; we will 
pay him fairly for it. Pip must have 
chickens and eggs to make him strong and 
well. But the hot walk over the sands is 
too much for you, Judy. I would rather 
go myself.” 

“Is it you?” cried Judy indignantly. 
“You go with a market basket to a dirty, 
rough place where they sell the drink! 
Never while Judy Grogan has a hand to 
hold ye back will ye go there!” 


66 


SHIPMATES 


And gripping her big basket resolutely 
the old woman took her way over the sands 
to the wharf more than two miles away. 
It was a long tramp for a woman of sixty. 
The July sun was blazing down from a 
cloudless sky without any friendly shade 
to temper its rays. When she reached the 
wharf, about which had grown up a rough 
settlement of sheds and cabins for the 
oyster men, Judy’s head was throbbing 
and her feet burning. She was glad to 
“drop” indeed, on a packing-box, and 
while Sandy Briggs filled her basket for 
the return trip she questioned him about 
the “stout lad” and boat that would ren- 
der these “killing tramps” unnecessary. 
Sandy was a one-legged old Scotchman, 
sour and suspicious. 

“An’ ye were the fules to come,” he said. 
’Tis a braw coast for men, but no place for 
women or weaklings. It’s four years I 
have been at the wharf mysel’, and never 
has the house ye’re in been held a summer 
yet. It was some rich young fule’s fancy 


A BUSINESS VENTURE 67 

to build it there, and he tired of it himsel’ 
quick as all rich young fules do.” 

“And small wonder,” said Judy from 
the bottom of her heart, for she was hot 
and tired. “It’s the lonely desert of sand 
and sea, God knows. But we’ve come to 
save the little lad and we’ll stay to save 
him. It’s only the long tramp here for the 
food that is killing me outright. If one 
of the fisher-boys about here could bring 
it to us in his boat we’d pay fair for it.” 

“Pay or no pay, ye canna count on 
them,” growled old Sandy. “They’re a 
feckless lot flitting back and forth as they 
will. There’s one now,” and the speaker 
nodded toward the wharf ; “ye might ask 
him. But, mind ye, I’m giving him no 
good name, for I know naught of him save 
that he can handle a boat like a sailor born. 
And I’ve yet to see him drunk like the 
rest. I must say that.” 

“And that’s something in a place like 
this,” said Judy hopefully. “I’ll go speak 
to the lad. If he is sober and decent as 


68 


SHIPMATES 


you say maybe he’d like to make an honest 
penny when his day’s work is done.” 

And she turned from old Sandy’s store 
that held a conglomeration of everything, 
from butter to boat anchors, and hurried 
down to the wharf, where the master of 
the Bouncing Bet was just making ready 
to swing off for a deep-sea sail. 

“Wait a bit, wait a bit,” called Judy, 
waving her hand. “I want a word with 
you, my lad, before you go. Keep off 
your dog while I talk to you.” 

“Down, Don, down, old chap! He 
won’t hurt you,” and Roving Rob turned 
with a pleasant smile that, as Judy always 
said, took her heart at once, as she panted 
up to his side. 

“Would you like a nice, decent, easy 
job?” she began eagerly. “I am looking 
for an honest man that would stop at 
Carter’s Cove every day or two with a 
basket that it is killing me to drag over 
these burning sands.” 

“Carter’s Cove! Carter’s Cove!” 
Judy’s listener looked into the kind old 


A BUSINESS VENTURE 


69 


withered face and revelation burst upon 
him. Judy! Judy of the burying money 
— Judy of cookie and cinnamon-bread 
fame — the wonderful Judy of his small 
passengers of yesterday was offering him 
a job! A job at Carters Cove! For a 
moment the joke of it was too much for 
Roving Rob, and he stood quite speech- 
less. 

“Don’t you understand, man?” said 
Judy, out of patience after the heat and 
glare of her long walk. I’m asking you 
if you will stop every two days at Carter’s 
Cove, at the little cottage with the red 
roof. Maybe you know the place ?” 

“I — I — yes, I’ve seen it,” was the an- 
swer. “You want me to stop there, you 
say.” 

“And bring my marketing from the 
store here on your boat — the butter, sugar, 
meat, whatever it is I order,” explained 
Judy, feeling it was rather a slow-witted 
lad she had to deal with. “Every other 
day, you’ll understand, no oftener. And 
what will you call fair pay for that?” she 


70 


SHIPMATES 


questioned somewhat anxiously. “Will a 
quarter each time be enough ?” 

“A quarter!’’ echoed her listener as if 
in doubt; “a — a quarter!” 

“Yes, a quarter,” said Judy with sharp 
decision. “A quarter we’ll give you, no 
more and no less. We’re not rich folks 
with pennies to throw away. If you’re a 
poor man yourself you know what a quar- 
ter means to a young slip of a girl that 
has to be teaching school year in and year 
out to earn a living for herself and her 
little brother and sister. If you’ll take the 
job at a quarter you can have it; if you 
won’t I’ll drag the basket myself, though 
I drop on the way. 

“Oh, I can’t — can’t let you do that,” 
said Roving Rob quickly. “I’ll — I’ll take 
your — take the job, I mean — as you 


“At a quarter?” asked Judy firmly. 
“Yes,” was the answer with some hesi- 
tation, “at — at a quarter.” 

“It’s all that it’s worth,” said Judy. 
“But it will be ten cents extra for taking 


A BUSINESS VENTURE 


71 


me back to-day, for I wasn’t named in the 
bargain.” 

“Oh, we won’t stand on that,” said the 
young man with a smile. 

“We will,” answered Judy. “A bar- 
gain is a bargain, be it dollars or dimes, 
and I’m asking no favors. Now I’ll get 
my basket and we’ll be away.” 

And off they were in a few minutes, 
Roving Rob at the rudder, Judy and her 
basket comfortably settled at the stern, 
while Don, apparently doubtful of this 
new passenger, sat grave and watchful 
amidships. 

“That’s an ugly beast of a dog you 
have,” said Judy disapprovingly. “What 
good is he to you?” 

“Good? Well, not much perhaps. 
Still I would not like to give him up.” 

“The more fool you, then,” said the old 
woman. “It’s feeding two instead of 
one.” 

“I never thought of that,” answered 
Roving Rob with a laugh. “But Don is 
all I have, you see,” he hesitated, feeling it 


72 


SHIPMATES 


would not be wise to give much of his per- 
sonal history to his shrewd old listener. 

“All you have?” repeated Judy warm- 
ing into sympathy at once. “Haven’t you 
father or mother, brother or sister, you 
poor lad, that ye have to take up with a 
dumb brute? I’m sorry for you. It’s the 
lone, cold world when ye have naught but 
a dog. Are you American born?” 

“Yes,” answered the steersman, keep- 
ing his eye fixed on his course as if he did 
not wish to meet Judy’s questioning gaze; 
“but my father and mother died when I 
was very young. And ” 

“Ah, yes, yes!” interrupted Judy piti- 
fully. “I know what that means. A hard 
road and a rough road for you to travel, 
my poor lad. And so ye took to the sea?” 

“Yes, I took to the sea,” was the brief, 
reply. 

“It’s what many a brave, bold lad has 
done before,” said Judy nodding. “There 
was my own third cousin, Andy Connor, 
was a sailor like yourself. And there 
wasn’t a finer dancer in all Kildare 


A BUSINESS VENTURE 


73 


though one of his legs was cork. You have 
never met an Andy Connor in your 
travels?” 

“Not that I remember,” answered her 
companion gravely. 

“I suppose not,” said Judy. “It’s 
likely he went down in the deep sea long 
ago — God rest his soul! But we split a 
sixpence betwixt us forty years ago. I 
am keeping my half of it yet.” 

“That means you were lovers, doesn’t 
it?” asked the young man with a friendly 
smile as he turned his boat toward the 
shore. 

“It does,” said Judy. “But you can’t 
count on a sailor lad, as every girl in Kil- 
dare knew, myself with the rest.” 

The Bouncing Bet had made the Cove 
now, and was tacking on to the little 
wharf. 

Milly, still anxious about her young 
invalid’s late adventure, had kept her 
little family under watchful care to-day. 
From the sheltered corner of the pond 
where Pip was throned in a big easy-chair 


74 


SHIPMATES 


they caught sight of the approaching boat. 

“It’s my pirate,” cried Tot, who in- 
sisted upon claiming the envied honors of 
Daisy Bell. “It’s the nice pirate that 
caught us when we runned away. Milly 
— oh, let me go! — let me go see the nice 
pirate that is bringing Judy home!” 

“Run off then,” said Milly, who felt 
that the “pirate” deserved some thanks 
for his dousing yesterday. And Tot was 
off at the word, dancing gleefully down 
the shelving sands, her chubby arms out- 
stretched in greeting to her rescuer who 
was just helping Judy ashore. “Oh, take 
me in your boat — take me in your boat 
and sail me around some more. Take me, 
please, Roving Rob ” 

“It was you, then — you that saved the 
children yesterday!” exclaimed the old 
woman in delight, as Tot caught her 
“pirate’s” hand. “Then ye have earned 
your job, indeed, my lad, she added, 
counting out the quarter and dime from 
her leather purse. 

“There’s your money now, and it will 


A BUSINESS VENTURE 


75 


be waiting for you every other day as I 
said, and luck go with it, every penny. 

“There, there, now,” continued Judy to 
the clamoring Tot. “Let him go now, 
darling; he will be back again and you 
and Pip can go for a sail with him, a long 
sail far over the deep blue sea, and be 
‘shipmates’ — as Andy Connor used to say 
long ago — shipmates in earnest.” 

And with this promise Judy led the still 
wailing Tot up the shelving beach to the 
little red-roofed house, while the master 
of the Bouncing Bet stood for a moment 
looking after them. Then opening his 
hand he gazed at the silver pieces resting 
in his palm. 

“Thirty-five cents, Don,” he said to the 
dog who had leaped from the boat and 
stood waiting at his side. “The first 
thirty-five cents you and I have ever 
earned in our lives, lazy dogs that we are. 
I rather like earning money, Don; we’ll 
keep it up awhile. And as Judy — 
good old Judy — says, luck go with it, 
every penny.” 


CHAPTER VI 

AN ODD JOB 

ND so Roving Rob’s “job” at Car- 



IjL ter’s Cove began. It was a most 
satisfactory job, considering that he had 
never handled a market-basket before, and 
scarcely knew a potato in its raw state 
from an onion. But he was learning 
many things these summer days that 
young gentlemen who smoke mono- 
grammed cigars are not taught even by 
world- wide travel. He found that pen- 
nies counted a great deal when a small 
family was outing for the summer, that 
dimes were serious considerations, and 
dollars — oh, dollars — weighed tremen- 
dously! He found that one chicken must 
make soup for two days, and its age and 
toughness did not count, for Judy would 
“boil it tender.” He found that Sandy 
Briggs, in Judy’s indignant opinion, was 


76 


AN ODD JOB 


77 


an old Scotch rogue to ask such prices as 
he did for tea and sugar.” 

For there was no eluding Judy’s house- 
wifely eye, or her young lady’s anxious 
mathematics. The market bill was sent 
with the market-basket, and settled 
promptly. Cash down, was the business 
motto at Carter’s Cove this summer, even 
to Roving Rob’s quarter. Judy met him 
on the beach, so there was no need for him 
to leave his boat and face the staring eyes 
of his young mistress. 

It was the fourth day of his service. 
Pip and Tot, who had spied the Bouncing 
Bet afar, came down gleefully to meet 
her. Carter’s Cove had done wonders for 
Pip already. There was a healthy glow 
on his cheek, his eyes had a new sparkle, 
the slender limbs were rounding into 
firmness and strength. 

While Judy took the basket up to the 
house to empty it for a new “order,” the 
children climbed into the boat, Tot beg- 
ging for the promised sail. 

“Milly said we could go if you would 


78 


SHIPMATES 


take us,” she pleaded, putting a chubby 
arm about her new friend’s neck, as she 
stood on the seat at his side. 

“No, Tot! She said if he asked us,” 
corrected Pip. “She said fishermen had 
to earn money and couldn’t waste their 
time on boys and girls. She said we 
must not bother you. And didn’t come 

down for that at all. I came to — to ” 

the speaker paused, feeling that the 
speech usual at school presentations was 
too much for him. “I came to give you 
this.” He drew a blue ribbon with a 
silver medal on it from his jacket pocket. 
“It’s — its for — for saving us the other 
day,” he explained, putting it in Roving 
Rob’s hand. 

“Saving you!” was the astonished ex- 
clamation. 

“Yes,” said Pip, “for saving Tot and 
me from drowning. Milly said she 
wouldn’t like to give you money because 
— because — you might have fine feelings 
about it; fishermen often do. But the 
finest kind of people take medals — 


AN ODD JOB 


79 


soldiers and sailors and everybody. So I 
brought this to you. I got it for Cate- 
chism last year. It’s real silver, and you 
can wear it all your life. And Milly says 
it will bring you a blessing.” 

Roving Rob was looking at the medal 
silently. It was a very small medal, just 
a little Maltese Cross with name and date 
on it, and the emblem, though very blue 
and bright, was poor and thin. But it 
brought a rush of feeling, of memories, 
that for a moment struck Roving Rob 
quite dumb. 

He had won a medal like this himself 
long ago — long, reckless, careless, forget- 
ful years ago. And he had lost it — even 
as he had lost the Faith, the hope, the 
boyish innocence that looked up at him 
now from Pip’s starry eyes. 

“Keep it,” he said passing the medal 
back in Pip’s hand. “I can’t take it from 


“Oh, you must!” said Pip eagerly. “I’ll 
feel real bad if you don’t. I am getting 
well and strong again now; and I can 


80 


SHIPMATES 


study hard and get another one next year 
and you can’t.” 

“No, I can’t,” was the answer with a 
short laugh. “You’ve hit it there, my 
boy. I can’t; so — well — I’ll keep the 
medal, as you ask. 

“Put it round your neck,” said Tot, 
slipping the ribbon over his head. “Then 
everybody will know you are good — and 
pulled us out of the boat that was running 
away with us. Now take us sailing,” 
commanded the young lady laying a coax- 
ing hand on her rescuer’s cheek; “take us 
away over there where the water rock-a- 
byes,the boat. I’m not afraid to rock-a- 
bye with you, my nice, big Rob!” 

And never having been under such 
orders before the master of the Bouncing 
Bet felt compelled to obey, so he spread 
the white wings of his boat and took his 
passengers away out to the mouth of the 
Cove, where the foam-crested waves 
leaped over the bar, and the salt sea spray 
flew in their faces as the Bouncing Bet 
“rock-a-byed” in the ocean swell. 


AN ODD JOB 


81 


It was rougher cradling than Miss Tot 
had ever known, and she clung to her 
“pirate” in mingled terror and delight. 
But Pip fairly shouted in boyish glee, as 
the boat rose and dipped again on the roll- 
ing waves. 

“Hush screaming, Tot. You wanted 
to come. You’re a nice sort of girl to take 
out sailing. Oh, it’s fine — better even 
than I thought. I used to dream about 
something like this when we were shut up 
in our rooms, with the great brick walls 
of the next house before the window, and 
everything so hot and tight I couldn’t get 
a good long breath.” And the speaker 
drew a delighted, protracted sigh, that 
seemed to expand his slender frame sev- 
eral inches. “This is better than anything 
I dreamed. Oh, I wish I were big enough 
to have a boat like this, and go sailing 
every day.” 

“You’d get tired of it,” said Roving 
Rob as he tacked around into quieter 
waters. 

“No I wouldn’t,” said Pip; “not for 


82 


SHIPMATES 


this one summer at least. Of course, I 
wouldn’t want to sail all my life. I’ve 
got to study as soon as I get well and 
strong — study real hard to make up for 
lost time ” 

“Make up for lost time!” repeated Rov- 
ing Rob curiously. “Have you lost time 
already?” 

“Yes,” said Pip; I’ve been sick ever 
since New Year. That’s a long time to 
lose for a fellow nearly thirteen. It will 
throw me a whole grade behind.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother about that — at 
thirteen,” said Roving Rob. “Take it easy 
for awhile. There’s no hurry ” 

“Oh, but there is!” said Pip decidedly. 
“I want to get through school quick. I 
want to get to work, you see, and take 
care of Milly and Tot. I want to make 
money so Milly won’t be worried about 
bills and things like she is now. The 
doctor charged a lot for coming to see me 
last winter, and we had a nurse three 
weeks, and Milly hasn’t finished paying 
for it all yet.” 


AN ODD JOB 


83 


“And I couldn’t go to dancing-school 
with Daisy Bell ’cause I had no slippers 
or sash,” interposed Tot dolefully. 

“You see it isn’t like we had a father or 
mother,” explained Pip. “Nearly all the 
boys I know have fathers or brothers or 
uncles to take care of them. But we have 
no one but Milly, and you don’t make 
much money teaching school. But when 
I get to be a man she wont teach school 
any more, you bet. I’ll take care of her 
and Tot myself, if I have to work all day 
and all night, too.” 

“What sort of work are you thinking 
of?” asked Roving Rob. They were in 
calm waters again now, and Pip, seated on 
a coil of rope, had fallen into the grave 
mood that befitted a young person of 
such heavy future responsibilities. 

“I don’t know yet,” he answered 
thoughtfully. “Milly would like me to 
be a lawyer. But that costs a lot of 
money and takes too long. Milly would 
have to teach school until she was old and 
gray as Miss Dural. I think I had better 


84 


SHIPMATES 


be a banker. I don’t suppose you know 
much about bankers,” added Pip, feeling 
he was getting beyond a mere fisherman’s 
reach. 

“Pve heard of them,” said Roving Rob. 
“Big sharks that swallow everything in 
sight ” 

“Oh, no, no! they’re not— not sharks at 
all,” said Pip, too polite to laugh at his 
companion’s ignorance. “They are men 
that work in a fine place where they keep 
money, piles and piles of money. Ned 
Wallach’s father is a banker, and he has 
everything fine. And his grown-up sister 
that isn’t half as pretty as our Milly has 
three new hats at a time.” 

“And Milly couldn’t get any new hat 
at all,” chimed in Tot, who was still 
snugged up to her pirate’s side in fear of 
more “rock-a-byes.” “She just blacked 
her old one with shoe polish and put a 
bow on it.” 

Meanwhile quite unconscious of the les- 
sons in family history that her brother and 
sister were giving so freely to their new 


AN ODD JOB 


85 


friend, Milly stood on the porch, her 
white dress fluttering in the breeze as she 
anxiously watched the sail of the Bounc- 
ing Bet rising and falling on the ocean 
swell. 

“Oh, they are out so far, and the waves 
are quite rough. I ought not to have let 
them go, Judy.” 

“What hurt will it do them? The lad 
will take care of them. The old sour- 
faced Scotchman said he handled a boat 
like a sailor born, and was sober and 
decent besides. What more would ye 
ask? Pip is getting stronger every day; 
it will do him good to have a fine whiff of 
the salt sea like he is having now. I’d like 
to see him off sailing every day.” 

“Oh, Judy, not — not with that rough 
fisherman,” said Milly. 

“And why not? Rough or smooth — 
whats the difference as long as the lad is 
honest and decent as him beyond?” 

“But we don’t know that he is,” said 
Milly anxiously. “We don’t know any- 


86 


SHIPMATES 


thing in the world about him except that 
he caught the children when they were 
adrift in the boat the other day. And 
you know what everybody has told us 
about the people about here — how rough 
and dreadful they are.” 

“Aye, I know,” said Judy, “but I’ll 
trust my own eyes and my own sense 
against all their telling. And there’s no 
harm in that lad, I’m sure. I’m not say- 
ing that he has much head,” acknowledged 
Judy. “He gave me twenty cents over the 
right change to-day and never knew it, 
poor lad, till I showed him. And he has 
no more sense about driving a bargain for 
his fish than if he was a new-born babe. 
Whether it was five or six cents a pound 
he did not know. But its a soft head that 
often goes with a soft heart as I always 
heard my mother, God rest her, say. And 
there’s an Irish glint in the lad‘s eye I 
like to see. I’ll warrant that some of his 
forebears came from the old sod.” 

“There they are turning back now,” 


AN ODD JOB 


87 


said Milly who, while listening to Judy’s 
doubtful praise of their new acquaintance, 
had been anxiously watching the course of 
the Bouncing Bet . “And Pip is enjoying 
his sail, I know. Oh, Judy, don’t you 
remember how he talked about ships in 
his fever dream? Oh! how thankful I 
ought to be that I could bring him here, 
where he is getting so well and strong! 
You did it, Judy,” and Milly slipped her 
soft young arm around the old woman in 
a grateful hug. “You did it all! If it had 
not been for you we would never have been 
able to come to Carter’s Cove. And I’ll 
trust your fisherman and everybody else 
at your word,” added Milly with a happy 
tremulous little laugh. “He is a nice 
honest-looking fellow, I must say.” For 
the Bouncing Bet had reached the little 
wharf, and her master, standing up in the 
stern, caught the children lightly in his 
arms and swung them safely ashore. 

For one moment the lithe, strong figure 
was outlined against sky and sea and 


88 


SHIPMATES 


Milly smiled as she saw the blue ribbon 
of Pip’s catechism medal about his neck. 

Ah, he must be a simple honest fellow 
indeed, simple and soft-hearted as he was 
big and strong. She could trust the chil- 
dren with him, as Judy said. 


CHAPTER VII 

DRIFTING 

T HAT brief glimpse of the stalwart 
figure with the blue ribbon about 
his neck had been most reassuring to 
Milly. So, also, was the brief interview 
the next Thursday when, Pip and Tot 
clamoring to go off sailing again, she had 
tripped down to the wharf to look at the 
boat and be quite sure that it was safe and 
seaworthy. It really seemed very strong 
and dry and clean, Milly declared ap- 
provingly to its master, who stood with 
his sailor cap in hand, very much confused 
at the young lady’s visit. 

“But the children ought not to take 
your time,” she added as Pip and Tot 
clambered gleefully into their usual 
places. “You have your living to make, 
I know, and I don’t like them to interfere 
with it.” 

Roving Rob answered that they did not 
89 


90 


SHIPMATES 


interfere with his work at all. He would 
be very glad to take them sailing whenever 
they cared to go. 

“It is doing Pip good, I am sure,” said 
Milly. “You see, he has read so many sea 
stories, and he loves a ship. He used to 
dream about sailing when he was so ill. 
But — ” Milly hesitated as if she found 
the words awkward to speak — “I would 
like to pay you a little for the use of your 
boat and for your time and trouble.” 

And Roving Rob had flushed up to his 
close-cropped curly hair and said it was 
not worth any pay. If she would trust the 
children with him he would bring them 
back safe ; that he promised. So the mat- 
ter was settled and the Bouncing Bet 
skimmed off over the sunlit wave with its 
boatload of passengers, including Polly 
Flinders in a new sunbonnet that effectu- 
ally concealed the late damage to her 
flaxen head. 

And Milly turned back to the house, 
quite satisfied that her treasures were safe 
with this big, bronzed fisherman, who had 


/ 


DRIFTING 91 

stood so confused in her gentle presence 
that he had scarcely raised his eyes to her 
face. 

“He seems to be a real honest, simple 
fellow, as you say, Judy; a little dull per- 
haps.” 

“Dull!” laughed Judy. “He is that, 
indeed. He dumped three of the finest 
fish I ever saw on the wharf this morning, 
and said he had no use for them. No use, 
and he making his living, the simpleton, 
dragging them out of the deep sea at the 
break of day! As I told him it was well 
that no poor woman was looking to him 
to earn her bit and sup, for she’d fare sore. 
And he only laughed, showing all them 
white teeth of his, and said she would in- 
deed. But it’s the simpletons like him 
that take with children. Pip and Tot are 
mad after him entirely. It’s Rob this and 
Robbie that all the day through.” 

And this especial day’s sail only added 
to the charm. The breeze was fair, and 
the Bouncing Bet swept far out of the 
Cove, past the “rock-a-bye” of the bar, 


92 


SHIPMATES 


and off into the deep sea beyond, where 
the waves rose and fell like the beat of 
some strong calm heart, so strong and 
calm that Tot laughed in baby glee, un- 
conscious of fear, as the light boat rode the 
billows’ curling crests. 

Rob had brought lunch with him, such 
luncheon as Sandy Briggs could furnish; 
crackers, a little jar of marmalade, some 
sugar-topped cakes, half a dozen bananas ; 
a rather light diet, we must confess, for a 
stalwart fisherman, but very satisfactory 
to his young passengers, whose appetities 
were wonderfully sharpened by this deep- 
sea voyage. They saw a great ship with 
all her sails set rising like a shadow on the 
far horizon, and Rob told them that it was 
going away over three thousand miles of 
ocean before it would touch land again. 

“Will it sail through the dark night?” 
asked Tot, to whom a thousand miles 
meant nothing. 

“Why, of course, Tot!” said Pip. “How 
could they sail that far in the day?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t like to sail in the dark 


DRIFTING 


night,” said his sister, her voice a troubled 
little chirp. “I would be afraid. Did you 
ever sail through the dark night, Rob?” 

“Very often,” he answered, putting a 
steadying arm about the chubby little 
questioner who had snuggled up to his 
side, for Miss Tot was a restless passenger 
for a small boat, and had to be watched 
carefully. Long ago, in those dim years 
that belonged to the medal and blue rib- 
bon past, Roving Rob had had a little 
sister very much like Tot, a little sister 
who had gone away with the angels, leav- 
ing all the gold and lands that would have 
been her earthly heritage to him alone. 
But neither gold nor lands had ever filled 
the place in his boyish heart that little 
Dolly had left empty. If she had lived to 
cling to him with tender, loving hold, like 
Tot, things might have been different with 
Roving Rob; he would not have been the 
idle, careless wanderer he was now. 

“Sailors like Rob don’t mind the night, 
Tot,” explained Pip, who was well up in 
boyish sea-lore. “The stars show them the 


94 


SHIPMATES 


way, don’t they, Rob? Do you know how 
to steer by the stars?” 

Rob thought a moment, his eyes fixed 
on the speaker’s upturned face. “Pm 
afraid I don’t,” he answered. 

“Then — then what can you do?” asked 
Pip in perplexity. 

“Drift,” was the answer; “drift around 
in the dark.” 

“Oh, but then you might hit a rock or a 
surf and get wrecked,” said Pip seriously. 
“You ought to learn how to steer by the 
stars, Rob.” 

“Too late,” said Rob briefly. “I thought 
about it once, but now it’s too late.” 

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” said Pip; “you’re not 
too old to learn things, Rob. Don’t you 
know anybody that could teach you, 
Rob?” 

“No,” said Rob; “I don’t think I do.” 

“Then you might get a book. There 
are lots of books about sailing, right there 
in our house. But Milly wouldn’t lend 
them; she can’t, you know, because they 
belong to Mr. Raynor, who owns the 


DRIFTING 


95 


house. But you might come up sometimes 
and read them, Rob.” You — you can 
read, can’t you?” asked Pip with delicate 
hesitation. 

“Yes,” answered Rob. “Though it has 
not been of very great use to me, I must 
say.” 

“Oh, I suppose it hasn’t,” said Pip. “I 
wish you could read some of Mr. Raynor’s 
books, Rob ; you’d like them, I know. He 
has a whole bunch of the finest boy books 
I ever saw — sea stories and Indian stories 
and premiums that he got at Saint Mark’s 
College, and the Story of Columbus, with 
big colored pictures, that is great. Mr. 
Raynor got it as the first prize in history 
when he was at school. Milly has covered 
it in brown paper so we won’t hurt it, and 
we read it every night.” 

And Roving Bob listened to this boyish 
chatter, feeling very queer, indeed. He 
had come to Carter’s Cove in a mood of 
fierce impatience with all the world — of 
its fashions and flatteries and vanities — 


96 


SHIPMATES 


determined to steal away a while where 
his fortune and name were unknown. 

And following the whim of the mo- 
ment, as he had followed each idle fancy 
for the last half dozen years, he had rented 
a little cabin on the oyster wharf, hired the 
Bouncing Bet from Sandy Briggs, and 
proceeded to “ rough it” with the other 
rude fishermen on the beach. He had 
“roughed it” before; he had hunted bears 
on the Rockies, and lions in the jungles; 
he had camped in the desert tent of the 
Arab; he had ridden on camels and ele- 
phants, and boated in Venetian gondolas 
and Chinese junks. In short, Roving Rob 
had tried almost everything when weary 
of the idle ease of a rich man’s life. But 
in all his rovings by land and sea he had 
never had quite such an experience as 
this; never before had he been the market- 
man for a small family, never before had 
he been required to account for dimes or 
dollars, to a penny; never had he been 
“hired” for a quarter a trip. At first it 
had seemed a tremendous joke, something 


DRIFTING 


97 


to retail to his laughing friends in club- 
room or at dinner-table; but it did not 
seem quite so funny to him now. He felt 
he could never tell the story of the little 
sick boy brought to Carter’s Cove, on 
Judy’s burying money, to a laughing, 
heartless crowd; he could not joke at 
buying chickens that had to be “boiled 
tender;” he could never breathe even a 
whisper to a lady listener of the “shoe- 
polished” hat. 

For as Roving Rob had stood to-day 
cap in hand in the full light of Milly’s 
trusting eyes he had felt most uncomfort- 
ably like a trickster and a cheat. 

How those violet eyes would blaze if 
their owner knew who it was that had in- 
truded upon her home, learned all the 
pitiful little secrets of her poverty, taken 
Pip’s medal, and Judy’s pay. Big and 
brave man that he was, Roving Rob fairly 
quailed at the thought. She must never 
know ; he must cut out the whole business 
at once. He would leave wharf, beach, 
Cove, even the Bouncing Bet herself, this 


98 


SHIPMATES 


very night. So Roving Rob resolved as 
he turned back to the shore, with his young 
shipmates to-day; for selfish and thought- 
less as life had made him, he was a fine, 
true fellow still in the depths of his soul 
and heart. But for long, careless, idle 
years those depths had been unstirred. 
Roving Rob had had no one to think of, 
to love, to live for but himself. 

The chubby little girl snuggling like the 
lost Dolly of old at his side, the starry- 
eyed boy telling him all his hopes and 
plans, were stirring those depths strangely 
to-day. For unlike all the rest of his 
world, they knew nothing, cared nothing 
for his greatness or his gold; it was lonely 
Roving Rob, the poor fisherman, who was 
their shipmate and friend. 

“I am afraid I won’t be able to come 
up for you any more,” he said as the 
Bouncing Bet neared the wharf. “I’m go- 
ing away.” 

“Going away!” echoed Pip dismally. 

“Going away!” said Tot, looking up 


DRIFTING 


99 


with a quivering baby lip. “Oh, not going 
away for good , Rob!” 

“Yes — for good!” answered Rob 
grimly as he caught sight of the white- 
robed figure on the porch awaiting their 
return. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! We’ll all be so 
sorry,” said Pip. “Milly and Judy and 
all. I don’t know how we will do without 
you, Rob.” 

“We won’t get anything to eat,” said 
Tot dolefully, “ ’cause Judy has stiff 
knees and can’t walk to the store and all 
the other fishermen get drunk. Oh, we 
won’t have anything to eat at all, if you 
go away, Rob!” 

“And we won’t have any more fine sails 
like this ever again,” said Pip manfully 
steadying the quiver in his voice. “Oh, I 
thought — I thought — you were going to 
be here all summer, and we would have 
grand sails together, and I would get 
brown and big and strong just like you. 
Have you got a better job somewhere else, 
Rob?” 


100 


SHIPMATES 


“Well, no,” was the answer. “I can’t 
say that I have a better job.” 

“Then why must you go?” asked Pip 
wistfully. 

“He shan’t, he mustn’t,” said Miss Tot 
decidedly. She was on her feet now be- 
side her “pirate,” with both of her baby 
arms about his neck. I won’t let him. 
Oh, I don’t want to stay at this Carter’s 
Cove when the boat runs away with us 
and there will be no big Rob to catch us, 
no Rob to bring us anything to eat, 
I don’t want to stay here at all,” cried 
Tot. “I want to go back home where there 
are nice stores and houses and an organ- 
man and a monkey and Daisy Bell. I 
don’t want to stay here with no one to save 
us from the storms,” Tot wailed outright. 

“Tot, stop crying,” said Pip sternly; 
“stop crying and don’t be such a baby.” 
She heard Judy saying last night she 
hoped there wouldn’t be a bad storm while 
we were here, for it would go hard with 
us out here all alone. 

Hard with them! It would, indeed; 


DRIFTING 


101 


how hard Roving Rob, who had faced the 
wild sweep of wind and wave in that deso- 
late coast, knew. Hard with them! Rov- 
ing Rob glanced at the little toy of a house 
his passing whim had set down on that 
lonely shore with only the drunken fisher- 
men of Oyster Wharf within reach. It 
had been madness for weak women and 
helpless children to come here, but the 
madness of unselfish despairing love that 
could not stop to count risk or cost. 

Long ago — in the days of his medal and 
blue ribbon — Roving Rob had found a 
hapless mother bird fluttering and twit- 
tering about the nest full of little fledge- 
lings that had fallen from the cedar 
boughs near his home. Some gentle im- 
pulse had made him suppress the boyish 
shout that would have called his comrades, 
lift the nest softly back to its place, twist 
the shielding branches safely around it, 
the mother bird all the while fighting at 
him desperately with beak and wing. Day 
after day he had crept softly back to see 
that the nestlings were safe, dropping 


102 


SHIPMATES 


crumbs of his cake or cracker within the 
little feathered mother’s reach. 

As Roving Rob saw the wistful look in 
Pip’s eyes to-day, heard Tot’s helpless 
baby cry, looked at the tiny red-topped 
house on the curve of the sea, he felt as if 
he had found that nest again — a nest that 
needed a strong protecting hand and a 
watchful eye. 

“Don’t cry,” he said to Tot as they 
drew up to the wharf. “I — I haven’t gone 
yet, little girl. I guess I’ll drift around 
here a week or two more. I won’t go quite 
yet.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

a shipmate’s day 

S O TWO weeks passed and Roving 
Rob was still drifting around Carter’s 
Cove. He had a “steady job,” he ex- 
plained to Pip, that would keep him and 
the Bouncing Bet at work for a month at 
least. But it left him plenty of time for 
Judy’s marketing, plenty of time for long 
sails around the Cove, and beyond the bar 
sometimes far down the coast. And those 
long sails were doing wonders for Pip, 
as Milly could see. He was growing more 
sturdy and sunburned every day; he was 
learning to handle rope and tiller and sail 
and oar; to face the sweep of the wind; to 
ride the crest of the wave with fearless 
delight. There was no need of pillow or 
cushion now. Pip could tramp the beach, 
climb the sand dunes, spring from wharf 
into boat alone. 

“And it’s the bold sailor boy we have 
103 


104 


SHIPMATES 


indeed now,” said Judy in delight as Pip 
came bounding up from the beach one 
morning with news that the Bouncing Bet 
was at the wharf for orders. 

“And Rob says if Milly will let me go 
we’ll make a day of it. There’s a stiff 
sou’wester blowing and we’ll go humming 
along the coast. And he knows a nice 
place we can stop and make a driftwood 
fire and have lunch, clams and coffee and 
smoked sausage. 

“Clams and sausage!” exclaimed Milly. 
“And six weeks ago you were sipping 
chicken broth. Oh, Pip, dear, I’m afraid 
you’re going ahead too fast.” 

“Not a bit of it,” interposed Judy. 
“Look at his legs and his shoulders and 
at the red in his cheek and the light in his 
eye. That’s what the winds and the sea 
are doing for him. Let him go. It will 
do him no harm.” 

“But we’ll keep Tot at home,” added 
Judy with a cautious nod toward the 
kitchen where that young person was 


A SHIPMATE’S DAY 


105 


busily engaged with a diminutive iron 
upon Polly Flinders’ laundry. 

“It’s no day for a bit of a girl like that 
to be out with boys and men.” 

And to this Milly agreed, for the waves 
were cresting high before the sou’wester. 
Miss Tot was a fidgetty shipmate when 
the sails of the Bouncing Bet bellied and 
her ropes grew taut in the wind. So al- 
though he knew there would be a wail 
when his absence was discovered, Pip 
hurried away quietly to the wharf, where 
having delivered his basket according to 
Judy’s order, Roving Rob was waiting for 
him. 

“I’ve got the ‘Columbus,’ ” said Pip as 
he sprang into the boat, laying a covered 
volume under Rob’s oilskin coat. “Milly 
said if I would be very careful of it I might 
take it out with me to-day, and we could 
read it together as we sailed. She says 
there are a lot of other books, all about 
steering and sailing, at the house, that she 
would like to lend you, for you would find 
them most — most improving. But she 


106 


SHIPMATES 


doesn’t dare . They all belong to Mr. Ray- 
nor and he would not like it at all.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t he?” asked Roving Rob. 
“Why not?” 

“Oh, because — because — ” hesitated 
Pip, feeling it would require some deli- 
cacy to explain matters, “he is very rich 
and grand and wouldn’t like his books 
meddled with by strangers.” 

“How does your sister know?” asked 
Roving Rob. 

“Oh, she don’t know him herself at all,” 
answered Pip. “But she has heard about 
him.” And Pip paused as consideration 
for his landlord prevented him saying 
more. 

“And she heard no good, I suppose,” 
said Roving Rob drily. 

“N o, she didn’t,” said Pip shaking his 
head. “You see, he is a very rich man that 
don’t, have to do anything at all.” 

“I see,” said Roving Rob. “One of 
those idle, worthless fellows that ought to 
be kicked into some sort of honest work.” 

“Oh, Milly didn’t hear that,” said Pip 


A SHIPMATE’S DAY 107 

seriously. “But she heard that he was 
awful selfish; that he didn’t think of any- 
body or care for anybody or live for any- 
body but just- himself. And that’s a bad 
way to be, isn’t it?” 

“Very bad,” assented Rob briefly. “I 
never want to have money if it is going to 
make me feel like that, do you?” asked 
Pip. 

“Well, just at this minute, no,” an- 
swered Rob with a grim smile. 

“Milly says,” continued Pip, who was 
seated on the coil of rope while his com- 
panion watched the swelling sail as the 
Bouncing Bet skimmed before the breeze, 
“Milly says she would rather have me 
poor forever than be a rich, hard, selfish 
man and have shaky old tenement houses, 
where poor little babies die for want of 
fresh air, and stores that sell shirts that 
poor women have to make at six cents 
apiece.” 

“Who does that?” was the startled 
question. 


108 


SHIPMATES 


“Mr. Raynor,” said Pip with a grave 
nod. 

“Oh, no, no — surely!” was the quick 
answer. 

“Yes, he does,” persisted Pip. “Milly 
knows. Lena Dulzky, one of the little 
girls in her class, was sick and Milly went 
to see her. She had to climb five flights of 
shaky stairs, so dark she could scarcely 
see the way, and when she got up there it 
was so damp and leaky and close she felt 
as if she could not get her breath. There 
was only one window, and they were cook- 
ing cabbage soup — that was all they had 
to eat. And Lena was sick, and the baby 
was dying in its old grandmother’s arms, 
while its mother stitched on the shirts she 
had to finish that day to pay the rent.” 

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Roving Rob 
under his breath. “But what — what had 
Raynor to do with all this?” 

“It was his house,” Pip went on, his 
staring innocent gaze fixed upon Rob’s 
face; “the whole block of tenement houses 
was his, and the store where they sold the 


A SHIPMATE’S DAY 


109 


shirts, and the grocery where they ran up 
bills — everything was his. And all the 
poor people were working and living and 
dying to pay money to him. And he was 
away off in Paris, and didn’t know or 
care.” 

“He didn’t know or care,” repeated 
Roving Rob drawing a long breath. 
“Well, I guess that’s about the truth of 
it. He didn’t know — or care — ” 

“Hello!” exclaimed Pip, suddenly di- 
verted from this unpleasant subject by the 
flutter of a blue and white pennant in the 
distance. “There’s Camp Xavier! And, 
oh, look at all the boys out bathing! Let’s 
tack in shore for a minute, Rob, and see 
the fun.” For it was fun, indeed, as could 
be seen even now from the Bouncing Bet. 
The waves roused by the sou’wester into 
rough play were leaping, hoarse-voiced, 
foam-crested, far up on the sands. And 
diving, jumping, shouting, in the surf a 
score of boys were having their morning 
romp with old ocean, that stirred by the 


110 


SHIPMATES 


rising wind was showing “white caps” far 
out to sea. 

“Oh! they are having a time of it,” said 
Pip as the Bouncing Bet “tacked” in 
toward the shore. “I haven’t see any real 
boy’s fun since last Christmas, when I 
went skating and beat Tom Bradford all 
to a frazzle in a race down the creek. But 
skating isn’t anything to this.” 

“No, it isn’t,” answered Roving Rob. 
“I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to jump 
in and have your fun with the rest.” 

“Oh, I am afraid it wouldn’t,” said Pip 
wistfully. “Though I’d like it sure. You 
see if I got cold or sick again, it would 
worry Milly to death. And she has spent 
such a lot of money getting me well. But 
we could stop awhile, couldn’t we? I’d 
like to see the camp. It has been so long 
since I’ve been with a bunch of boys ” 

“We’ll stop then, if you say so,” said 
Rob as he headed the Bouncing Bet for 
the jutting point of sand that braced by 
a palisade of upright logs served as Camp 
Xavier’s wharf. 


A SHIPMATE’S DAY 


111 


A chorus of welcoming shouts greeted 
their approach, the swimmers came 
swarming gleefully around the boat to 
investigate her cargo. 

“Melons — peaches — crabs? What have 
you got?” 

“Nothing!” answered Rob. “Nothing 
but a big dog and a small boy that wants 
to stop and see your camp. Are visitors 
allowed?” 

“Allowed, is it?” repeated a rich, 
healthy voice and one of the swimmers 
looking up showed a broad beaming face 
framed in grizzled hair. “You’re welcome 
as the flowers of May. I’m Brother 
Mathias that was left in charge of these 
young rascals for my sins, I’m thinking. 
In with ye now, boys, in with ye all. 
You’ve had enough of the water to-day. 
In with ye, every one. If it had been any 
one but old Brother Mat in charge you’d 
never have stepped from dry land in a 
rough sea like this. In with ye. I’ll not 
put my foot to shore until I have all of 
ye before me.” There was a merry scram- 


112 


SHIPMATES 


ble for the beach; with all his good humor 
it was plain that Brother Mat must be 
obeyed. 

He stood, a sturdy old figure, in the 
surf counting his charges until the last of 
the twenty scurried up on the sand, then 
he turned to the visitors. “Tie the boat to 
the stakes and come up with us to dinner. 
Father Francis is down for a day or two, 
and we’re giving him a fine spread. We 
were out fishing for it before day.” 

“Yes, go,” said Rob to his young ship- 
mate. “I’ll stay down here with Don and 
watch the boat.” 

“Ah, not at all,” said Brother Mat hos- 
pitably. “Come, both of you, and the dog, 
too, if ye want him. The boat will keep 
fast to the stake if you have a stout haw- 
ser. And we’re to have sports after the 
dinner, wrestling and quoit-pitching, and 
a race up the beach.” 

Now, indeed, Pip’s eyes kindled. 

“Oh, Rob, come, please. I can’t go un- 
less you do. I just won’t leave you all 
alone, when you brought me out and we 


A SHIPMATE’S DAY 


113 


were going to have lunch together. Come, 
please — please!” 

Rob yielded with evident reluctance. 
The Bouncing Bet was fastened securely 
to Camp Xavier’s wharf; Don, who was 
dozing lazily in the stern, was left in guard 
while the two shipmates landed, and es- 
corted by Brother Mat, who had flung a 
long cloak over his bathing suit proceeded 
up the beach. 

“Why, hallo! shouted a sturdy young 
chap, pausing in his race up to the tents to 
stare blankly at the new arrivals. “Jump- 
ing Jinks! Is that Pip Parker — or his 
ghost?” 

“Jack Kent!” exclaimed Pip delight- 
edly recognizing the roguish leader of 
many a game. “Jolly old Jack! down 
here?” 

“How — when — where — did you drop 
from?” asked Jack breathlessly. “I 
thought you were dying or dead. Whoop- 
a-loo there! Dick Warren! Hal Lynn! 
Here’s Pip Parker — all to the good 
again.” And two other boys in red and 


SHIPMATES 


114 

blue bathing suits turned at the call to 
stare for a moment and then burst into 
cheering shouts of surprise. 

“Pip, Pip! Well, well! We’re glad 
to see you out again. We heard you were 
down and out for keeps.” 

“It looked like it for awhile,” laughed 
Pip as his three old schoolmates crowded 
about him clapping his shoulders and 
gripping his hand, “but I’m up and in 
again as you see. I was pretty bad off, 
but Milly, my sister, you know, brought 
me down to a place on the shore here — 
Carter’s Cove — and it has fixed me up 
fine. How did you all get off like this?” 

“Our folks were going to hotels for the 
summer,” answered Jack. “Hotels — 
where we’d have to brush our hair and 
look nifty all day.” 

“And nothing doing but dancing and 
croquet,” added Dick in deep disgust. 

“So we struck our dads for Camp 
Xavier, and Brother Mat,” said Hal. “It’s 
fifty dollars for two months, and its worth 
five hundred. Boating, bathing, fishing. 


A SHIPMATE’S DAY 115 

Golly if you could see the busters we drew 
in this morning! Aunt Nance is cooking 
them for dinner now. And crabs and 
clams by the boatload! Fried chicken, 
corn cakes to beat the band! Ham and 
eggs every morning, all you can stuff! 
And ice cream that we freeze ourselves 
three times a week! You’re one of the 
freezers to-day, Dick. You’d better peel 
off those bathing togs and get to work. 
Nance said the peach slush would be 
ready by twelve. We’ve got to do our- 
selves proud to-day. Father Francis is 
down ” 

“Not — not old Father Francis that 
used to be at St. John’s,” said Pip. “I 
thought he had gone away forever.” 

“Yes, but they sent him back,” replied 
Hal, “back to die; he says he’s so weak 
and can’t see very well, and has to walk 
with a stick.” 

“But he don’t mind it a bit, does he, 
boys?” 

“Pooh, no, not a bit,” was the answer. 
“You’d think dying was just fun to 


116 


SHIPMATES 


hear him talk about it. And he says Camp 
Xavier is the sort of place he likes ; he was 
a soldier once himself. He brought a 
graphophone down with him last night; 
the finest you ever heard. There it’s going 
now, doing the darkey minstrel stunt.” 
Hurry on, boys, and you’ll hear.” 

And hurried on by his old schoolmates 
Pip for the moment lost sight and thought 
of the shipmate who had fallen back from 
the chattering group and was looking 
around for escape. Father Francis — “old 
Father Francis of St. John’s” — was a per- 
son whom Roving Rob had no mind to 
meet. 


CHAPTER IX 

AN HOUR BY THE SEA 

I T WAS a bewildering hour that fol- 
lowed for Pip. To be plunged suddenly 
into a stirring boy world, from which he had 
been exiled for months, to have jolly Jack 
Kent’s arm flung around his shoulder, and 
Dick Warren’s voice in his ear, and Hal 
Lynn chaffing in the old way at his side, 
while a dozen or more other boys pressed 
around in friendly curiosity, eager to see 
and hear the newcomer was exhilarating 
indeed. Then to be introduced to all the 
delights of Camp Xavier, the tents with 
their rows of snug little cots, each with its 
folded army blanket; the big marquee 
with its swinging bellrope that it was Dick 
Warren’s business to pull; its line of 
board tables, set with shining plates and 
cups of tin, all of which could be whisked 
away in a moment, and the canvas screen 
removed disclosing a simple altar with 
117 


118 


SHIPMATES 


tapers and cross for Sunday Mass. Then, 
of keen if more prosaic interest was the 
grub tent, where Tobe’s old Nance ruled 
again over the rusty cook-stove, amid 
crates and boxes, barrels and buckets, 
cackling and clucking coops of supplies. 

With twenty boys to feed marketing 
was a serious business at Camp Xavier, 
and the small farmers and fishermen along 
the shore and back behind the sand hills 
were in luck this year, as Uncle Tobe had 
said. 

pip learned that though sturdy old 
Brother Mat was the ruling and moving 
and providing genius at Camp Xavier, the 
younger Brothers from the House of 
Studies took turns in coming down to read 
and talk and share the games with the 
boys, to help along a few who needed to be 
coached in grammar or mathematics, from 
the autumn session, to head exploring ex- 
peditions back among the hills or far up 
in the sands. 

“One mile is the limit for boys to go 
alone,” said Jack. “The camp is staked 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 


119 


with four blue flags. It seemed a little 
strict at first for fellows as big as we are, 
but the life-savers up the shore told 
Brother Mat such yarns about sharks and 
quicksands that he put up the flags and 
laid down the law.” 

“And if you break it?” asked Pip curi- 
ously, for Jack was rather given to break- 
ing laws he knew. 

“Shipped home by the next boat,” re- 
plied Jack briefly. “And Brother Mat 
don’t fool about it — two boys went last 
week. But when there’s a Brother to head 
the gang we tramp it for miles. And there 
are two boats that carry eight boys each; 
we can’t all go out together, but we take 
turns rowing and sailing every day. And 
fishing, oh! if you could see the busters 
we hauled in this morning just round the 
Point!” 

Altogether there was so much of ab- 
sorbing interest to hear and see about 
Camp Xavier that before Pip realized 
how quickly a couple of hours had passed 
the big bell was clanging out for dinner, 


SHIPMATES 


ISO 

and the boys were hurrying in to the 
marquee, where the long tables were laden 
with all the solid, good things that befitted 
a seaside camp : Clam chowder, fried 
chicken, hot biscuit and johnny cake, great 
platters of fish just out of the sizzling pan, 
crabs that had been kicking in the net an 
hour ago. 

It was such a dinner as made the “mar- 
keting” of Carter’s Cove dwindle by com- 
parison into a “black fast,” but the sight 
and smell of it recalled Pip to the obliga- 
tions of friendship. 

“Jinks!” he said, starting up remorse- 
fully. “Where is Rob? I suppose he 
didn’t like to push in with you boys, and 
now — now I’ve lost him.” 

“Who is Rob,” asked Jack. 

“He’s a fisherman up at the wharf,” ex- 
plained Pip. “He takes me out in his boat 
nearly every day, and we have fine times 
together. He has taught me to sail and 
row and all kinds of things. Oh, I won- 
der where he is! I ought not to have left 
him like this. I guess he felt sort of rough 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 121 

and strange with you fellows and slipped 
back to the boat.” 

“Oh, let him stay there,” said Dick 
Warren. “What’s the odds, Pip? Those 
wharf fishermen are a tough lot and he 
won’t care.” 

“Oh, but I do!” said Pip. “He has been 
so good to me that I can’t go back on him. 
Brother Mat asked him to come up to din- 
ner, too. I’ll go get him right now. 

And finding Pip thus decided the other 
boys went with him to look up the missing 
guest. The young campers were hurry- 
ing from all directions to the welcome call 
of the bell. Pip cast a swift look along 
the beach; the Bouncing Bet rocked 
lightly at her moorings, her white pen- 
nant fluttering in the breeze. Don was 
dozing lazily on guard, but there was no 
Rob in sight. And after a searching 
glance up and down the sands that 
stretched bare and deserted from reef to 
point, Pip yielded to the impatient per- 
suasions of his chums and they all hurried 
back to the dinner where grace had already 


m 


SHIPMATES 


been said and the merry music of knives 
and forks was in full swing. 

Meantime Rob had been having various 
experiences of his own. He had no mind 
to push in with the other fellows, as Pip 
had guessed; indeed, his one wish as soon 
as he had seen the crowd at Camp Xavier 
was to escape as promptly as possible. For 
Roving Rob was not much of an actor, 
and there were times when he felt the role 
of a wharf fisherman rather too heavy for 
his skill. 

So when Pip was taken up enthusi- 
astically by his old chums, his shipmate 
had managed to slip off, not to the boat 
(that was already a center of interest to 
a dozen or so young campers, but higher 
up the beach, where it jutted out into a 
point and the ruin of an old light-house 
unused for years was half buried in the 
shifting sands. Feeling this would be a 
safe shelter from the curious eyes and 
questioning tongues of the wide-awake 
young campers, Rob swung himself 
through one of the gaping windows — the 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 


123 


door had long since been blocked with flot- 
sam and debris from sea and shore — and 
stretched himself comfortably on the sands 
that had drifted in dry, soft heaps over the 
crumbling floor. The merry voices of the 
boys came cheerily from the camp, the 
waves broke in deep, full- voiced music be- 
low him, through a wide fissure in the 
ruined wall he could see a glorious picture 
of sunlit ocean and arching sky. But 
there was a new shadow on Roving Rob’s 
face to-day, that the light and joy about 
him could not lift. Pip had set him to 
thinking of things of which he had never 
thought before. The close, foul tenement- 
houses in which little babies were dying 
for want of air, the weary women toiling 
all day for the miserable pittance that 
would “pay the rent”; the heartless land- 
lord, grasping all and feasting, idling on 
the pitiful earnings that to his helpless 
victims meant food and breath and life. 

“George! The little chap hit hard!” 
A grim smile flickered over Roving Rob’s 
face as he recalled Pip’s unconscious 


124 


SHIPMATES 


“knocks.” “I never had such an out-and- 
out hammering before. And every stroke 
true — deadly, devilishly true! I knew I 
was a fool — an idle, worthless fool — but I 
find I am something worse — ten thousand 
times worse — I’m a swindler, a robber, 
nay, a murderer. I wonder how many 
baby deaths are at my door! I can just 
see that white-robed, soft-eyed girl trip- 
ping up those breakneck stairs of Ray- 
nor’s Row now, and sickening at what she 
saw and heard there. Confound that hard- 
headed, hard-hearted, close-fisted Belton. 
I might have known better than to give 
him full swing over my property. But, as 
the boy said, I didn’t want to be bothered 
— I did not know or care. And here I 
am playing the fool still — worse than the 
fool, a great deal worse — so that same 
clear-eyed girl would say if she knew that 
it was Robert Livingston Raynor drift- 
ing around the coast, learning all her fam- 
ily troubles, buying her scanty little meals, 
taking her pitiful little pay, dodging her 
gentle glance like the cheat and fraud he 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 


125 


is. But it’s like the birds nest of long ago. 
I don’t dare to leave such a set of helpless 
innocents in that lonely shack of mine. I 
don’t dare! It is no place for them — no 
place for weak women and children. Sup- 
pose a storm should strike them — such a 
storm as I’ve faced in the Cove! Suppose 
the boy or that baby girl should get ill! 
Suppose — great Heavens! — suppose a 
thousand things in which they would be 
absolutely helpless and friendless — with 
only those toughs at the wharf within 
reach. No!” Roving Rob set his lips 
firmly, as he sometimes could and did; 
“there is no way out of it. I’ve got to 
drift around and keep watch — keep watch 
and dodge Miss Milly’s starry gaze as best 
I can. She suspects nothing, and, with 
Heaven’s help, she never shall! I will be 
rough, trusty fisher Rob until she and her 
little flock are safely back in town. And 
now I wonder, since no one is near enough 
to catch the breath of my perfecto, if I 
dare venture on a decent smoke.” 

He thrust his hand deep in his fisher- 


126 


SHIPMATES 


man pocket and drew out a silver cigar 
and match case. Taking from it a mono- 
grammed cigar, he was about to light it 
when he suddenly paused at the sound of 
voices without. Quickly he dropped cigar 
and silver case out of sight as the speakers 
stopped directly beneath his broken 
window. 

“Thanks, my dear Brother Leo,” said 
one in a cheery but feeble tone. “We 
will go no farther. I will sit down in this 
old ruined wall and rest. My heart warns 
me I must not tax my strength. I would 
not wish any sudden illness to mar the 
pleasure of my visit. What a happy time 
the dear boys are having here! What a 
happy, merry time! It reminds me of a 
gay party I headed about fifteen years 
ago.” 

“When you were pastor at St. John’s, 
Father?” asked a younger voice. 

“Yes, when I was pastor at St. John’s. 
Though I was old Father Francis even 
then, I was hale and hearty enough to lead 
the lambs of my flock on a frolic that 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 


127 


would make a happy and innocent close to 
a beautiful day. It was a First Com- 
munion day,” continued Father Francis 
softly, “always the joy of a pastor’s heart. 
And there was a large class at St. John’s 
that year — fifty boys at least. I always 
looked after the boys myself. The girls, 
gentle little angels, we can leave to the 
good Sisters, but the boys — ah, the boys! 
— they need the shepherd’s crook and staff. 
And we had what might be called a hard 
crowd that year at St. John’s. I had gone 
down in the slums and found many a lost 
lamb caught in the thorns and bramble. 
Yes, we had a large class of very poor 
boys, many of them ready to shirk at the 
last because they had not a pair of shoes 
or a whole jacket to wear. But,” and the 
speaker’s voice grew even softer and more 
tender, “there was one who had all that 
earth could give and held it all unspoiled. 
He was heir to a princely fortune, the 
master already of a princely house. Per- 
haps you have heard of him these latter 
years — Robert Livingston Raynor.” 


128 


SHIPMATES 


“Raynor! Robert Livingston Raynor 
— not the millionaire, the traveler !” There 
was startled surprise in Brother Leo’s 
tone. “I did not think — I did not know 
that he was a Catholic.” 

But Father Francis went on as if he 
had not heard the amazed remark. 

“Robbie headed the class, an exemplar 
to them all, so earnest, so eager, so atten- 
tive. There was some little trouble at the 
very first; the boys were inclined to scoff 
at the young ‘plute,’ his shiny boots and 
snowy linen, and Robbie found ‘Smudge,’ 
one of my finds, an undesirable partner, 
and asked to sit in his own pew alone. 
But after I had a talk with him he under- 
stood. Yes, my little Robbie understood 
and he kept his place unflinchingly at 
Smudge’s side. The last day of the re- 
treat I found him waiting for me at the 
rectory after the early Mass, eager and 
wide eyed. 

“‘Oh, Father,’ he said breathlessly, 
‘Smudge’ says he can’t come to-morrow; 
he hasn’t any jacket. He said he knew I 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 


129 


would be glad, as I would not have to walk 
with him, but I am not, Father, oh, I am 
not glad at all! 

“ ‘And,’ he hesitated a moment, like the 
shy little gentleman he was, ‘my god- 
mother in Paris has just sent me some 
money to buy a birthday present — a watch 
or a new pony or whatever I want most. 
But I’d rather — much rather — give it to 
the boys that haven’t anything. So won’t 
you please take it, Father, and get 
Smudge and the rest of them jackets and 
shoes and whatever they want?’ He 
slipped a banknote in my hand — it was for 
two hundred dollars. 

“ ‘Robbie, my dear boy,’ I protested, 
‘this is altogether too much. 5 

“ ‘Oh, is it?’ he asked in surprise. 
Robbie was not much of a financier in 
those days. I took a rapid mental review 
of my ragged regiment. ‘Fully one hun- 
dred dollars too much,’ I said. 

“ ‘Then — then,’ Robbie’s face bright- 
ened, ‘can’t you take the rest, F ather, and 
give the boys a picnic somewhere, a real 


130 


SHIPMATES 


nice picnic on a big boat, you know, with 
lots of things to eat? Smudge was 
never on a big boat but once, and then he 
stole a place among the freight; he says 
he never has good times unless he steals 
or sneaks them — and — I have such a lot. 
Oh, Father, won’t you give them all one 
real good time they will remember always, 
one real good day they will never forget?’ 

“Ah, well, well — as you can guess, 
Brother Leo — my own old heart warmed 
at the thought of what such a day would 
mean to my poor little ragamuffins, and I 
gave in to Robbie’s plan. And such a day 
it was ! The First Communion Mass, with 
Robbie and Smudge leading the pro- 
cession to the altar, and all my poor little 
lambs for that blessed hour at least were 
white and pure and whole! 

“Then the breakfast which my good 
Sanctuary always served in the school- 
hall, and the Rosary afterward around 
Blessed Mother’s altar, and then to the 
wharf, where the big boat was waiting for 
us with half a dozen or so of the young 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 


131 


St. Vincent de Paul men to ‘big brother’ 
the crowd. Officer Malone, good man, 
wanted to go along; he said he could not 
hope the grace of God would hold the 
gang I was taking with me, for Smudge, 
Jones, and some twenty others were the 
worst young toughs on his beat. But I 
wouldn’t let him come; we wanted no 
policeman on guard this blessed day. And 
they were not needed ; there wasn’t a scrap 
or an ugly word that whole day. We went 
for a two-hours’ trip down the bay and 
stopped at a strip of beach where the lads 
could boat and swim and fish for a while 
and empty the hampers of good things we 
had brought with us, and then home again 
through the golden sunset to the beautiful 
Benediction. Ah, it was a wonderful day 
for some poor little lambs!” concluded 
Father Francis softly, “a day that, as 
Robbie said, they could never forget!” 

“And yet,” said Brother Leo, “he must 
have forgotten.” 

“How do you know?” asked Father 
Francis, almost sharply. 


SHIPMATES 


“Only what I have heard,” said the 
younger Brother hesitatingly; “that he is 
a man of the world — without faith, with- 
out serious thought or aim or purpose.” 

“Aye, I have heard all that, too”; there 
was a tremor in the old priest’s voice. “I 
have heard it, too. Ah, it is a world of 
sin, sorrow, and temptation, my brother, 
and our lambs will go astray on its dark- 
ened ways. They tell me poor Smudge is 
serving a five-year term in prison now. 
And yet, Brother Leo, if after fifty years 
as a shepherd of souls I know anything of 
the human heart, I will venture to say 
there is a beautiful day in the far past 
that neither Smudge nor Bobbie have for- 
gotten — or can forget. It shines out of 
the darkness like a star — a star that I 
hope, I believe, in God’s good time, will 
guide them back to fold and Shepherd 
yet! 

“And now — now I am quite rested, dear 
Brother, and we will go back to our little 
campers, for it is dinner time, I know, and 


AN HOUR BY THE SEA 133 

I am the guest of honor to-day and must 
not be late.” 

Father Francis rose as he spoke, and 
laying his hand on Brother Leo’s arm, re- 
traced his way slowly to the camp. 

And Roving Rob lay motionless, his 
head resting on his clasped hands. But the 
sunlit gap in the broken wall on which 
his eyes were fixed was dimmed with a 
mist that did not rise from the sea. 

“Smudge in prison!” he murmured to 
himself. “Smudge and I — partners 
again, so the dear old man feels. Smudge 
and Robert Livingston Raynor both lost 
alike!” 


CHAPTER X 

A HOMEWARD YOYAGE 

D INNER was over at Camp Xavier, a 
dinner that, beginning with grace 
from Father Francis, had proceeded in a 
gale of fun and frolic until the platters 
had been cleared as only hungry boys can 
clear platters, and the last heaping mound 
of ice cream had vanished. 

Then as the boys prepared for the dish- 
washing that was a part of camp duty, 
Brother Mat came up and laid a friendly 
hand on Pip’s shoulder. 

“Sorry to hurry you, my boy, but the 
wind is freshening and that shipmate of 
yours is impatient to get off. This coast 
is not over safe in a gale.” 

“Oh, I’ll come right away, then,” said 
Pip quickly. “I’ve had such a good time 
that I did not know how late it was.” 

And amid a chorus of cheery good-bys 
and hearty invitations to come back as 

134 


A HOMEWARD VOYAGE 


135 


soon as he could, Pip hurried away to 
the wharf, where Rob, already seated in 
the Bouncing Bet, was awaiting him with 
some anxiety. 

“Time to be off,” he said briefly, as Pip 
sprang to his place in the boat and they 
made loose from their mooring. “We’ve 
got to make the Cove as quick as we can, 
for there is a storm over there,” and he 
nodded toward a faint line visible on the 
horizon. 

“I am sorry I kept you waiting, Rob. 
I came down to the wharf to bring you 
up to dinner, but I couldn’t find you. 
Where were you, Rob?” 

“Oh, loafing up there by the old light,” 
was the careless answer. “I felt I would 
not be in it with all those old chums of 
yours.” 

“Yes, you would,” answered Pip loy- 
ally. “I told them all about you, Rob.” 

“You did?” interrupted Rob drily. 
“How much about me could you tell? I 
may be the biggest scamp afloat for all 
you know.” 


136 


SHIPMATES 


Pip lifted the clear eyes that were so 
like his sister’s to Rob’s face. “But I 
know you’re not,” he said, “because — be- 
cause you look good, Rob. Milly says so, 
too. She says you have a very fine face. 
And Judy thinks you’re great. They 
were talking about you last night,” con- 
tinued Pip, unconscious how Rob’s “fine 
face” had flushed beneath its coat of tan. 

“Nothing bad about me, I hope,” he 
said. 

“Oh, no!” answered Pip, “only you 
brought us home too much money again, 
Rob, thirty cents too much. Judy was 
worrying about it. She said you had no 
head for counting at all.” 

“She’s right there,” agreed Rob. “I 
never had.” 

“Didn’t you ever learn to count, Rob?” 

“Learn to count,” repeated Rob. 
“Well, yes, after a fashion. But I always 
get some one else to count for me when 
I can.” 

Pip paused for a moment in pitying 


A HOMEWARD VOYAGE 137 

consideration of his shipmate’s many de- 
ficiencies. 

“I don’t suppose you ever went to 
school, then, did you, Rob?” 

“Oh, yes, I went to school,” replied 
Rob. “But it did not do me very much 
good, as you see.” 

“I am afraid it didn’t,” said Pip. “Some 
schools don’t. You can just slip through 
and not learn anything. But you can’t 
do that at St. Mark’s. They catch you at 
it quick. I was getting along fine before 
I was taken sick last winter — history, 
geography and mathematics. I was going 
through brimming. I brought my books 
up here, and now Milly says that I am 
feeling so well I ought to study a little 
every day and freshen up for school in the 
fall. If you’d like to go over my arith- 
metic with me, Rob, it might help you. 
Y ou ought to know how to count. Every- 
body won’t give you back the wrong 
change you make like Milly. Just sup- 
pose you lost thirty cents every day!” 

And Rob flung back his head at the 


138 


SHIPMATES 


words and burst into a merry, ringing 
laugh that swept all the shadows from his 
fine face and left it bright and clear as a 
boy’s — a laugh that made Pip look at him 
doubtfully and recall Judy’s final de- 
cision last night: “It’s a warm heart and a 
friendly hand the lad has, but I can not 
say much for his head.” 

Meantime the Bouncing Bet had been 
skimming before a breeze that was fresh- 
ening every minute. Rob had spread all 
sail for a swift flight back to the Cove, 
casting now and then an anxious glance 
at the horizon, where the line of cloud 
showed clear and sharp against the blue of 
sea and sky. 

“I tell you we’re clipping it,” said Pip, 
who had begun to take a sailor’s pride in 
the speed of the Bouncing Bet. “A 
racing yacht couldn’t do much better than 
this. Did you ever see a racing yacht, 
Rob?” 

“Yes,” answered Rob, “I’ve seen most 
every kind of craft. I — well, I took to the 
sea early.” 


A HOMEWARD VOYAGE 


139 


“How early?” asked Pip with interest. 

“Oh, when I was ten years old,” was the 
reply. 

“Ten years old! That was early,” ex- 
claimed Pip breathlessly. “What could 
you do when you were only ten years old, 
Rob?” 

“Swim, row, sail,” answered Rob 
briefly. “Bigger men, of course, were 
along, but I handled the ropes and oars 
even then.” 

“But not — not for pay?” asked Pip. 
“You didn’t have to work for your living, 
surely, at ten years old, Rob?” 

“Just about as much as I work now,” 
answered Rob with the laugh that so often 
seemed to dance from his eyes to his lips 
as he talked to Pip. “I never was much 
on working, first or last. Rather loaf — 
drift — fool around — like I’m doing now.” 

“Would you?” asked Pip, and there was 
a faint shade of perplexity in the boyish 
face. “And are you just going to fool 
around all your life, Rob? That don’t 
seem exactly right.” 


140 


SHIPMATES 


“Why not? What’s wrong about it?” 
asked Rob. 

“I — I don’t know,” said Pip in a 
troubled tone; “that is, I don’t know how 
to tell you, Rob. But Milly says when 
I wish she didn’t have to teach school that 
everybody has some work to do in this 
world — everybody — rich and poor. Even 
if she were rich, she said, she would have 
to do something — help poor people and 
look after their little children, and take 
care that they had nice, clean houses to 
live in, not dreadful places where there is 
no air or light, and the babies get sick and 
die ” 

“Like that rascally Raynor’s place,” 
parenthesized Rob. 

“Yes, like his,” agreed Pip. “But may 
be he isn’t so bad after all, Rob. Maybe 
he is just fooling round, too , and doesn’t 
see or know. Maybe there is no one to 
tell him what he ought to do. Milly says 
rich men never hear the real plain truth.” 

“Once in a while they do,” said Rob 
drily. “And it hits hard, as it ought. And 


A HOMEWARD VOYAGE 


141 


I guess you and your sister are right about 
the fooling. A great husky fellow like me 
ought to have a steady job. You’re dead 
right, little shipmate,” and again the smile 
flashed from Rob’s eye to his lip and woke 
the whole “fine face” into life and light. 
“I’ll think it over. Meantime,” and his 
look sobered suddenly as it swept from 
sea to shore, “my job just now is to get 
you home before that storm bursts — if I 
can.” For the sunlight had grown dim 
all at once, and the line of cloud was a 
big black battlement now. Sullen mut- 
terings came from its heavy depths; ever 
and anon its jagged edges blazed omin- 
ously. 

Rob had steered clear of the shore, 
where the waves were foaming madly over 
the reefs and shoals, and there was a deep 
boom in the break of the billows upon the 
bar that Pip had never heard before! So 
they had kept well out to sea with the 
Bouncing Bet skimming with outspread 
sail before the wind. 

But now, as Rob cast a swift, anxious 


142 


SHIPMATES 


glance around, his voice grew quick and 
sharp. “I thought we could make it — but 
— we can’t. Here, grip the tiller, Pip; 
hold her hard against the wind, while I 
take in sail. George ! It’s coming quick. 
I was a fool, a cursed fool, to wait for 
this!” 

He sprang up and began hauling in the 
sail, lashing it in desperate haste to the 
mast, while a sudden hush seemed to fall 
upon the waves, their white crests flatten- 
ing for a moment as if cowering in af- 
fright. 

And then, with the crash of a thousand 
batteries, the great battlement of cloud 
broke into flame and roar, the wind leaped 
out with a wild shriek — the storm burst in 
all its fury. The Bouncing Bet whirled, 
careened, almost went over. Speechless 
with terror, Pip clung to the tiller, feeling 
that every moment would be his last. But 
a strong arm was flung around him, a 
stronger hand than his caught the helm, a 
deep voice with a new note of strength 
and manliness was speaking cheer. 


A HOMEWARD VOYAGE 


146 


“Steady now, hold fast, little shipmate; 
we’ll weather it yet. Steady! Wind and 
tide are with us and we’re scudding 
straight for the Cove.” 

“Milly, oh, poor Milly! Milly and 
Tot!” The loved names trembled on the 
little shipmate’s lips. “Oh God, help us! 
Save us — let us get back to Milly and 
Tot!” 

On swept the Bouncing Bet , plunging, 
swaying, careening before the wild fury 
of the wind, while drenched by flooding 
rain, breaking waves, and blinding spray, 
deafened by the crashing thunder and 
roaring surf, Pip clung desperately to 
his shipmate, whose strong hand still held 
the driving boat to her course. 

“Now, God have mercy on us!” burst 
involuntarily from his lips, as, with a shiv- 
ering crash the mast came splintering 
down, gashing his temple. “Pray, Pip! 
I can’t — little shipmate — pray!” 


CHAPTER XI 


IN THE STORM 

I T HAD been a long, long day for the 
little shipmates left at Carter’s Cove; 
when Tot discovered Pip’s desertion, 
nothing but a pan full of sugar-topped 
cookies and a story could divert her from 
tears and despair. 

“Sit up to the table, now,” said that 
wise comforter, Judy, as she rolled out the 
dough, “and you can cut out the little 
cakes yourself. That’s the work for a 
pretty girleen. It’s only bold boys like 
Rob and Pip that should go roaming the 
sea with the winds and waves blustering as 
they are to-day.” 

Judy cast an anxious glance out of the 
kitchen window as she spoke. The “blus- 
tering” was growing louder every moment 
— the dark line rising on the horizon told 
of the coming storm. 

“God send the lads safe home before 

144 


IN THE STORM 


145 


it breaks on us,” whispered Judy to her- 
self. “And what’s to keep us all from 
washing away, if the waves rise on this 
stretch of sand, I can’t see.” 

“What are you saying prayers for, 
Judy?” asked Tot, looking up from her 
cake cutting. 

“It’s a way I have when my beads are 
not handy,” answered Judy cheerfully. 
“And I was wishing to myself that we had 
a nice Giant’s Wall, like they have in Ire- 
land, to keep off the sea.” 

“Did the giants build the wall?” asked 
Tot, her eyes opening wide with interest. 
“And did you ever see it, Judy?” 

“I did,” answered Judy. “And a 
grand wall it is to this day. The waves 
may beat against it until they are mad, 
but they can’t get by. Listen now and 
I’ll tell you about it. I’m not saying it’s 
all the truth, mind ye, but I’ll give you 
the story as it was told to me. 

“There was once a giant living in the 
north of Ireland that was the worst of his 
kind. He lived in a great place on the 


146 


SHIPMATES 


Irish coast, and he robbed every one, high 
and low, far and near. No poor woman 
within forty miles could call a cow or pig 
her own, while, as for the geese and chick- 
ens, he gathered them in by the hundred, 
to fill his hungry maw. 

“You see, it was before Saint Patrick 
brought the true Faith to Ireland; and 
between the giants and the witches and the 
Druids it was in a bad way.” 

“Druids!” repeated Tot, who was quite 
familiar with the giant and witches of 
Judy’s legends. “I never heard of them 
before. What are Druids, Judy?” 

“Druids,” said Judy. “I don’t like to 
give them the holy name, but they were a 
sort of priests — heathen priests. They 
knew nothing of the true God or the true 
Church; how could they, poor men, for 
it had not been told them yet? And so 
they worked charms and spells by dark 
ways of their own, and the grandest king 
in all Ireland would not dare to go against 
their word or will. But little the giant 
cared for Druid or king. He had built a 


IN THE STORM 


147 


wall before his castle that no mortal man 
could climb, it was that high and that 
broad and that strong. And every year 
and every month and every day he went 
on building that wall further and further 
along the shore, until he was holding half 
the north of Ireland for his own. 

“The people that he drove from their 
homes flocked in fright to the king, and 
told their tales how the giant’s fist fell on 
their roofs like a thunderbolt, and his foot 
trampled down their fields, and his breath 
could blow the waves into storm from 
Bengore Head to Rathlin Isle. 

“And the king looked at his soldiers, 
and fine men as they were he felt they 
would be no more than thistle down 
against a giant like that. 

“ T can do nothing for you,’ he said 
sorrowfully. ‘Go to the Druids, for they 
have power beyond that of mortal man.’ 

“But the Druids shook their heads, too. 
‘Our spells are growing weak,’ they said. 
‘We can’t tell what it is, but the strength 
is going from us.’ It was the Sign of the 


148 


SHIPMATES 


Cross drawing near — though that they 
could not know. 

“ ‘What are we to do, then?’ cried the 
poor people who had been robbed. ‘What 
are we to do against this thief of the 
world?’ 

“Then one of the Druids that was wiser 
than the rest spoke up and said there 
might be a gleam of hope for them yet. 
He told them that far back in the hills — 
in a dark cave that the light of day never 
touched — there was an old Druid whose 
age no man could count. He was that 
old that the flesh and blood had dried from 
him, and he was no more than the shadow 
of a man ; but no living thing could stand 
up against the look of his eye or the lift 
of his hand. 

“ ‘We’ll ask him to come out and help 
you/ they said. And they called on him 
to put his power upon the giant and stop 
his murdering work. 

“ ‘I’ll try it,’ he says, and he sighed sor- 
rowfully as he gave the word. ‘I’ll try it 
though it will be the end of me, I surely 


IN THE STORM 


149 


fear. I was thinking to live/ says he, sigh- 
ing again, ‘to see the Holy Sign that is 
coming nigh us, to hear the Holy Word 
that is sounding across the sea even now. 
And so I’ve kept in the stillness and the 
dark, for I am but the wraith of a man that 
will melt like the mist in the light of day. 
But since ye’ve called me I’ll do what I 
can.’ 

“And with that he took up a white-ber- 
ried mistletoe bough, and, bidding no one 
come nigh him, went boldly up in the dark- 
ness to the giant’s gate. Though it was 
barred by copper and iron and brass, it 
flew open at the touch of the bough, and 
the old Druid went in. And what passed 
between them mortal man never knew, but 
that night there was a storm such as had 
never been seen or heard before. It shook 
all Ireland from Malin Head to Bantry 
Bay. And when the morning came the 
giant’s great castle was but a pile of dust 
that the winds could blow away, and where 
he and the Druid had gone in the darkness 
no one could say. But the wall he had 


150 


SHIPMATES 


built stood still, and there’s some that 
think the giant is lying bound by the 
Druid’s spell beneath it until the judg- 
ment day. And the Druid himself melted 
into the mist as he had said. There’s them 
along the coast that tell of seeing the 
wraith of an old man walking the giant’s 
wall before a storm even yet. 

“Now there the cakes are ready for the 
oven. So you can take Polly Flinders out 
for a breath of this fine fresh air. But 
don’t be going far from the door, darling, 
for there’s a ‘sough’ in the wind I don’t 
like. May the Lord send the lads home 
safe and sound.” 

But as the day wore on it seemed as if 
Judy’s prayer was in vain. The “sough” 
of the wind grew deeper, the waves 
boomed up higher on the sands, the line on 
the horizon, faint and sun-touched in the 
forenoon, rose in dark menace that even 
the little household at Carter’s Cove un- 
derstood. 

Blacker and blacker loomed the great 
cloud cliffs against the summer sky; 


IN THE STORM 


151 


louder and hoarser grew the voice of the 
sea, and still the Bouncing Bet did not 
come. 

Milly stood watching on the porch, pale 
with fear that all Judy’s forced courage 
could not dispel. 

“Don’t be fretting about the lads. They 
are stopping somewhere up on the sands 
till the storm goes by. Rob is no fool — 
when he is on the sea.” 

“Oh, I don’t like black skies!” wailed 
Tot. “I don’t want our house to tumble 
down like the giant’s. I’m afraid — I’m 
afraid!” 

“Afraid!” cheered Judy. “What’s 
there to frighten you, darling? Come in 
now, before we get the little scurry of 
wind in the cloud there — come in and 
we’ll shut the windows and doors and — 
and — Holy Mother! it’s on us now!” 
cried the old woman, dragging in Milly 
and Tot with sudden alarm, as the wind 
leaped out of the riven cloud and with 
crash of thunder and blaze of lightning 
the storm was on them, indeed. “Come 


152 


SHIPMATES 


in! Come in! Hold to the door while I 
slip the bolts of the windows,” cried J udy, 
flinging all her wiry strength against the 
swinging shutters and barring them 
against the wild fury of the blast. 

And then — then — the black darkness 
of a strange night fell upon them and all 
the evil powers of earth and sea and sky 
seemed let loose against the little red- 
roofed home. The shriek of the wind, 
blended with the crash of thunder and the 
hungry roar of the waves. Blinding 
lightning flashes lit the awful gloom. 
Hail-stones rattled upon porch and roof. 
Tot clung to Milly, screaming in terror, 
and even Judy’s stout heart qualed. 

4 ‘Holy Mother! Was there ever any- 
thing like this? Oh, the Lord be merci- 
ful to me. Don’t let me die in my sins 
without priest or prayer. It must be the 
end of the world itself. Pray, darlings, 
pray, pray!” cried the old woman despair- 
ingly as the little house rocked and tum- 
bled, and with a shiver of breaking glass 


IN THE STORM 153 

the gay little cupola went down before the 
wind. 

But Milly’s pale lips could not shape a 
word. With her arms tightly clasping her 
little sister, Judy’s wild prayers in her 
ear, all her thoughts were of the boat — 
the boat that she felt might be tossing 
through this mad chaos to its doom. 

Oh, she had been mad, surely she had 
been mad to trust Pip so blindly, so reck- 
lessly, to a dullard like Roving Rob. 

She would never see her dear little 
brother again — she would never see him 
again — the despairing words seemed to 
echo and re-echo in her ears, deadening 
all other sounds until suddenly the door 
shook fiercely on its rattling bolt and she 
started up with a low cry. 

“God have mercy on us! It will be 
down in another minute. Hold to it, 
darling, hold to it fast — hold the door!” 
cried Judy. 

“No — no!” was the trembling answer. 
“There’s some one outside. Open, Judy, 
open quick!” And before the bewildered 


154 


SHIPMATES 


old woman could catch her meaning, Milly 
sprang forward, slipped the straining 
bolt, and the door burst open to the full 
fury of the storm. 

And staggering over the darkened 
threshold came a panting, dripping figure, 
with a slighter one, limp and helpless in 
his arms. 

“Pip! Pip! Rob!” went up the 
women’s startled cry. “Oh, my God, is 
he dead? Is the boy dead?” 

“No,” was the quick, hoarse answer, as 
Rob dropped his unconscious burden on 
the leather couch. “Not dead — only 
fainting. Give him this,” he drew a flask 
from his pocket. I dared not stop 
sooner. Rub him, dry him — he will come 
to all right.” 

He staggered back himself as he spoke, 
slammed and bolted the door against the 
storm and stood against it spent and shak- 
ing while, forgetful of his presence, Milly 
and Judy gave eager, loving care to the 
fainting boy. 

“Give him another drop — another — in 


IN THE STORM 


155 


God’s name!” murmured Judy as Milly 
poured the liquor with trembling hand be- 
tween Pip’s pale lips. “He is taking it 
down like a man — praise be to the Lord — 
its putting the life in him. Another sup! 
Oh, but he’s wet and cold as the dead. 
Here, lad, here,” Judy’s anxious eye sud- 
denly fell on the watcher at the door. 
“Don’t be standing staring there when 
we want your help. Stir yourself! Get 
wood from the kitchen and make a fire in 
the chimney-place here, so that we can dry 
and warm the boy. Make a fire.” 

Rob, who had been looking on like one 
in a dream, roused at her words. 

“A fire,” he echoed; “a fire — where — 
how? ” 

“Where!” said Judy, fierce in her im- 
patience and anxiety. “Where! You 
blockhead? There, of course, there in the 
chimney-place, before you! Quick now, 
quick ! The wood, I tell ye, the wood be- 
fore the boy is dead with the wet and 
cold!” 

And obedient to the fierce command, 


156 


SHIPMATES 


Rob, still feeling as if he were in a strange 
dream, stumbled into the kitchen and 
brought out the wood Judy had piled in 
the corner, and laid and kindled it accord- 
ing to her direction, the old woman berat- 
ing him all the while for his awkwardness; 
for bringing wood and making fire were 
things that Roving Rob had never done 
before. 

‘‘There now, that will do,” said Judy, as 
after several smoking efforts the driftwood 
at last blazed up the big stone chimney, 
and Pip’s couch was drawn up to the 
hearth, and he was rubbed and dried and 
wrapped in soft blankets, while without 
the storm died away into broken echoes 
and sobbings as if wind and sea were sorry 
for their wild, passionate outburst, and 
praying for pardon and peace. 

Though it seemed ages to the pale- 
faced girl bending so anxiously over her 
little brother, it was really less than an 
hour before his blue eyes opened in the 
pleasant fireside light and warmth, on the 
dear familiar faces gathered around him. 


IN THE STORM 


157 


“Milly, Tot, Judy,” he whispered 
dreamily. “I’m — I’m home again. Home! 
Rob brought me as he said he would — he 
brought me — safe home. Where is Rob?” 

Where, indeed ? In their breathless 
anxiety for their boy, Milly and Judy had 
quite forgotten Rob. Only Tot, though 
subdued to unwonted silence by the terror 
and excitement, had kept her eyes and 
ears open. 

“Rob has gone,” she piped up reproach- 
fully. “Poor Rob was all wet and cold 
and nearly dead, but nobody cared for 
him, and now he has gone off all alone.” 

“Oh, Judy, we ought to have thought 
of the poor fellow,” said Milly. “He must 
be wet, chilled too. Look out, Judy, per- 
haps he is not very far. Call him back, 
Judy. I did not even thank him for sav- 
ing our boy.” 

But Judy looked and called in vain. 

“It was like him, the fool of a lad that 
he is,” she grumbled. “Never to wait for 
thanks or pay. There are some old 
clothes left up in the garret he might have 


158 


SHIPMATES 


put on while he dried his own, and I’d 
have made him a cup of hot coffee as soon 
as I had time to think of aught but Pip. 
But he has no head for himself, poor Rob, 
no head at all. He has gone.” 


CHAPTER XII 


“partners” 

R OB had gone, indeed. Like the guilty 
interloper he felt himself to be, he 
had stolen quietly out into the gathering 
twilight. He dared not wait in this little 
home of love and trust any longer. He 
felt too weak and dazed and shaken to 
meet Milly’s staring gaze and answer her 
gentle voice. He would betray himself — 
he could not hold to his false name and 
place, he knew. 

His head ached dully; there was a great 
bruise on his temple where the mast of the 
Bouncing Bet had struck him as it fell; 
he must find his boat and be off. The 
storm had passed, though ragged clouds, 
like the tattered banners of a flying army, 
still floated in the darkening sky, deepen- 
ing the gloom of the coming night. And 
the fierce roar of the sea had died into a 
murmurous music, like the penitential 
159 


160 


SHIPMATES 


chant he had heard in an old-world mon- 
astery years ago. He looked up and down 
the beach, dim with gathering shadows; 
there was no sign of the boat, there had 
been no time to moor it when he had 
leaped ashore with the boy in his arms in 
the very teeth of the storm. The Bounc- 
ing Bet, of course, had been swept away. 

There was a low whine at his side, a 
cold nose was thrust in his hand. Don, 
who had faithfully stalked after his mas- 
ter through all this direful adventure, was 
telling his sympathy as best he could. 
“Yes, she’s gone, Don; gone, old boy. 
We’re stranded for the night, it seems. 
I really couldn’t expect anything else. 
Still the tide is out now; she may have 
caught somewhere up in these shoals and 
reefs. Stay here, old boy, and keep guard 
over the shack, Don, till I come back. I’ll 
have a look up the shore. On guard, Don! 
Watch!” 

The dog leaped on him and barked ap- 
pealingly. “No, Don, you can’t come. I 
heard a whisper this morning that some 


PARTNERS” 


161 


jailbird had been hunted down to this 
beach. You and I will have to drift 
around awhile yet and watch. So watch } 
Don, while I go take a look up shore for 
the boat. Watch till I come back!” Don 
whined again, but his master pointed a 
commanding hand to the shack, and the 
dog sprang away obediently to lie down 
on the darkened porch, while with slow, 
heavy tread, all unlike his usual springing 
step, Rob kept up the beach. 

The tide was out now; the shore be- 
tween the Cove and Camp Xavier was a 
stretch of shoals and reefs, where a drift- 
ing boat might easily be stranded, so he 
strode along peering into the shallow 
reaches, where the sea seemed to break 
into the solemn, murmurous chant that 
haunted him so strangely to-night. 

“Miserere mei, Dens!” had been the re- 
frain of that cowled choir long ago, and 
in his throbbing brain the words echoed 
and re-echoed with dull insistence to the 
sobbing break of the sea. 

“Miserere mei, Deus! Miserere meil” 


162 


SHIPMATES 


“Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy 
on me!” 

The storm, the blow on his temple, nay, 
this whole “confounded’’ day, with its 
echoes and memories and awakenings had 
upset him, thought Rob irritably, as he 
wandered on, under the dim light of the 
still cloud-racked sky, looking for his 
boat. 

He had been a fool — he put a strong 
adjective before the word — the worst kind 
of a fool, to begin this masquerade, to steal 
into this gentle girl’s home under a false 
name, to learn all the pitiful struggles 
of her life, its self-sacrifice, its sweet 
womanly devotion. And Roving Rob al- 
most sickened with self -disgust, as he re- 
called the low pleading prayers he had 
overheard Milly breathing above Pip’s 
pillow, the tender outburst of sisterly love 
that had reached his ear as he had brought 
the wood and made the fire at Judy’s bid- 
ding, feeling, as he stirred the driftwood 
into blaze, that his lying presence pro- 
faned the tender, holy scene. 


PARTNERS” 


163 


If Milly should ever learn, ever guess, 
who it was that had stolen into the sweet 
intimacy of her little home, tricked, 
mocked, deceived her! Roving Rob’s 
cheeks burned in the darkness at the 
thought. 

For she would never understand — 
never understand all that this glimpse of 
simple faith and love and childish inno- 
cence had been to him — never understand 
how the prattle of his little shipmates had 
touched chords of blessed memory that 
had been silent for years — how the hard 
crust of selfishness that had gathered over 
all that was warm and true in his heart had 
melted to their simple trust. She would 
never understand that, although it had 
been only the whim of a world-weary 
idler that had brought him to rough it 
among the rude fishermen about the Cove, 
he had lingered there to watch, to guard, 
to protect, even as the boy Robbie had 
watched and guarded the hidden bird’s 
nest long ago. 

And what new yet old lessons he had 


164 


SHIPMATES 


learned in this watching! How the Light 
from which he had turned had flashed once 
more on his idle, careless, wasted life! 
How his little shipmate’s unconscious 
teachings had pricked his sluggish con- 
science and wakened his sleeping soul. 
But all this the gentle girl who had trusted 
him, as Rob the rough, dull fisherman, 
would never understand and must never 
— never — know. 

He would put an end to this folly at 
once, cut loose from it all before he would 
betray himself, go back to his own world, 
his own life. He would send a business 
note in her landlord’s name to Miss Par- 
ker, telling her that he had learned the 
place was unsafe, and offering her a more 
sheltered cottage further down the shore. 
And he and the little shipmates of this 
brief ocean dream would part necessarily 
forever — never — never to meet again. 
With this grim resolve, growing steadier 
and stronger in his troubled mind, Roving 
Rob strode on dully, almost uncon- 
sciously, while the fog that had come on 


‘PARTNERS 5 


165 


with the night rose in a silvery haze 
around him, shore and sea vanished in 
light veiling vaporous mists, through 
which there came suddenly the clear, 
sweet sound of a deep-toned bell. 

The wanderer paused, startled. Camp 
Xavier! Surely, Camp Xavier! Had he 
walked so far? “Night prayers” at Camp 
Xavier were chiming within his hearing — 
the De Profundis that had always closed 
the happy day at the stroke of nine — 
when he was a “Brother’s” boy himself. 

Why, he must be miles from the Cove! 
He must turn back at once. 

And as aroused, alert, he cast a quick, 
searching glance around him he caught 
sight of something dim and shadowy 
looming up in the lightening mist, where 
the sea was singing with low plaint over 
the shallows. 

A broken-masted, stranded boat — the 
lost Bouncing Bet! 

He sprang forward where she lay, high 
and dry upon the shoal, bared by the re- 
ceding tide, but ere he could put his hand 


166 


SHIPMATES 


upon her a dark, slouching figure started 
out of the shadow and gripped his arm. 

“No ye don’t,” it panted; “no ye don’t. 
Back, or it will be worse for ye. Back, I 
say; this boat is mine!” 

“Yours! You scoundrel! Yours!” 
cried Rob furiously, wrenching himself 
free from the other’s grasp. “I tell you 
this is the Bouncing Bet , for which I have 
been searching this hour. My boat — 
rnineT 

“I don’t care whose or what she is,” 
panted the other hoarsely. “It’s mine now, 
rnineT 

“We’re man to man, yet, though I don’t 
know how many are behind ye, but it’s 
mine, and I’m off with it right now.” 

“You are, eh?” answered Rob, rousing 
into righteous wrath. “Not while I am 
here to hold my own. You will have to be 
more of a man than I am, you scoundrel, 
to make off with my boat under my very 
eyes.” 

“You’ll have it, then; you’ll have it,” 
with a snarl like that of a baited beast the 


“PARTNERS’ 


167 


man was upon him. “Fool that you are! 
Ye shall have it, man to man — man to 
man!” 

Trained boxer, wrestler, athlete though 
he was, Roving Rob was no match for the 
brute strength that met him now. 
Dazed and weakened by his late experi- 
ence he went down under a mighty blow — 
down, down, with the blood gushing in a 
flood from his nose and mouth, with a 
blaze of red light before his eyes — down 
into some blank void where there was 
neither pain nor fear. 

“Ye would have it — ye would have it,” 
he heard a voice cry out hoarsely and then 
change into fierce alarm. “God have 
mercy, I believe Fve killed him! Ah, the 
fool, the blind, blundering fool to face me 
when I was mad like this, to face the fist, 
the arm of Fighting Smudge.” 

“Smudge!” the harsh name echoed 
dully through the blank in which Roving 
Rob was lost. Smudge! A faint, shad- 
owy picture floated before his closed eyes, 
a dim cathedral aisle, two boys walking 


168 


SHIPMATES 


side by side to a radiant altar — he and his 
“partner” Smudge. The picture van- 
ished, and he was dully conscious of a 
swift, rough hand at his pocket in his 
breast. 

Smudge — desperate, hunted, Smudge 
was searching for loot — robbing his vic- 
tim, after the ways of his kind! 

The mists had parted above them. 
Through the rift in the silvered vapors a 
pale moon looked down upon the pair. It 
showed Smudge, the pocket-book he 
snatched from Rob’s breast, a gentleman’s 
pocket-book, handsome and capacious. 
There were banknotes in it, letters, cards, 
and — and something else — a silver medal 
on a blue ribbon! A hoarse oath burst 
from the robber’s lips, the pocket-book 
fell from his shaking hand. 

That blue-ribboned medal woke a mem- 
ory that always stabbed his wild heart to 
its core. He had worn one, pinned to a 
new jacket on a wonderful never-to-be- 
forgotten day long ago. In a sudden 
horror of remorse, he was thrusting back 


“PARTNERS’ 


169 


all the contents of the pocket-book to re- 
turn it to its owner, when the bold super- 
scription of a letter caught his quick eye : 
“Robert Livingston Raynor.” 

“Raynor!” cried the startled wretch. 
“Not him, surely; oh, not him!” 

He glanced at another letter, and an- 
other, at the cards he held up to the light 
of the moon. “Robert Livingston Ray- 
nor” was the superscription on all alike. 

“Wake up, wake up!” he cried, shaking 
his victim rudely in his fierce, brutal ter- 
ror. “Tell me yer name, man, for 
heaven’s sake — yer name — yer name! 

The rough jarring touch, the hoarse 
question stirred the half-conscious brain. 

“Raynor!” came the faintly-breathed 
answer from the blood-stained lips, as even 
in the heavy dullness of sense and soul, 
Roving Rob vaguely realized it was now 
time to claim name and place. 

“Robert — Livingston — Raynor — of — 
of — Westfield — Park. Let — them — 
know ” 


170 


SHIPMATES 


But a fierce cry broke upon the faint, 
faltered words. 

“It’s him! It’s him! The little Robbie 
that I knew — that I walked with long 
ago! It’s little Robbie Raynor that I’ve 
killed here in the dark. What will I do? 
What will I do? Ah, its rousing, its wak- 
ing he is — wait and I’ll get a drop of 
water to take the blood from his face and 
eyes. I can’t, I can’t leave little Robbie 
like this — not like this.” 

The wounded man’s dull eyes had 
opened now; he was looking up. Some 
one was bathing his head, washing away 
the blood from cheek and brow, sobbing — 
aye, sobbing over him, hoarsely, brokenly 
— some one he did not seem to know. 

“Who was it?” he wondered confusedly. 
Who was this fierce, unkempt, unshaven 
creature bending over him with the ten- 
derness of a woman, the weakness of a 
child. 

“Thanks!” he whispered faintly as the 
grateful coolness of the water seemed to 


‘PARTNERS” 


171 


clear sight and brain. “You — are — very 
— very — good ” 

“Good is it? Good!” was the choking 
answer. “Good — when I have killed you! 
Oh, look up, sir! Look up and speak to 
me! It’s Smudge that’s talking to ye — 
mebbie ye don’t mind the Smudge — that 
— that ye walked pardners with that 
blessed day long ago. It’s Smudge!” 

“Smudge!” Again the picture of the 
cathedral aisle rose before Robert Living- 
ston Raynor’s closed eyes, and again he 
looked up with quickening consciousness 
into his companion’s face. This was the 
boy who had walked with him, who had 
knelt beside him ; this — this was Smudge ! 

Into what strange darkness they had 
wandered — he and Smudge! 

“If I had known ye — if I had known 
ye,” continued the sobbing voice, pouring 
hoarse hoarse confession into his dulled 
ear, “I would have died rather than lift 
my hand; if I had known that it was the 
Robbie Raynor that in all these black, 
cursed years I never forgot! Ah, but ye 


m 


SHIPMATES 


were the little gentleman to me! Wild 
young tough that I was, ye were the little 
friend! But they are hunting me down 
— they are hunting me down. I was 
jailed for what I never done, jailed for 
five years on a lying villain’s oath, and 
when I found my chance I broke loose 
like a wild thing that breaks its chain. 
And I made my way to these sands think- 
ing I could get off to a ship that was short 
of men and would take me in. I haven’t 
had bit or sup for nigh two days. All the 
devil in me woke when you laid your hand 
on the boat beyond — the boat that I 
thought would get me off. I was mad 
when I struck you down! I was mad 
when I struck you down!” 

“When you struck me down?” Mr. 
Robert Raynor echoed feebly; “when — 
you — struck — me — down ?” 

He was beginning to understand now. 
This was Smudge who had fought with 
him for the boat, who had struck him 
down; Smudge, his old partner of St. 
John’s — who had had no jacket or shoes 


PARTNERS 5 


173 


for that blessed day. Smudge, who was 
being hunted down on the dark ways he 
had been wandering — the wild, dark, 
rough ways — Smudge, who was sobbing 
over him now — like the big, bad, broken- 
hearted boy he was. 

“But ye’ll not die, ye’ll not!” Smudge 
went on. “Keep heart, sir, keep heart; 
though it gives me back to the jail for life, 
I’ll be off in the boat up the shore and find 
a doctor for ye. I’ll be off ” 

“No! No! No!” came the clear, steady 
tone of one accustomed to command, as 
Mr. Robert Livingston Raynor roused 
fully to the situation. 

“No doctor — no — save yourself, man — 
save yourself! Take — the boat — take the 
boat and go!” 

“Oh, I can’t, sir, I can’t leave ye. Let 
them jail me again; let them jail me; 
what difference does it make now when 
I’ve brought ye to this. It’s the black, 
cursed devil’s way I’ve walked these ten 
years that I must walk to the end.” 

“No,” came the slowly gasped words. 


174 


SHIPMATES 


“No — old partner — Smudge — no — don’t 
— give — up — no! Start — straight again — 
the old way — Father Francis’ way. 
Here” — the speaker’s hand groped feebly 
for the pocket-book Smudge had thrust 
back upon him — “take it — to help — to 
help you — walk — straight. We’ve both — 
both strayed — lost our way, Smudge, lost 
our way.” 

“God knows we have,” sobbed Smudge 
despairingly. “Oh, if He spares you from 
dying at my hand — if He spares you this 
night I’ll be another man — I swear it — in 
His holy sight. I’ll remember — nay, I’ve 
never forgot the blessed day we walked 
side by side to the altar. Though it was 
like the fire of hell to remember, I’ve 
never forgot.” But he started trembling 
to his feet as his quick ear caught the 
sound of approaching voices and foot- 
steps. 

“They’re coming!” he panted. “They’ve 
tracked me, sir! They will help you; they 
will take care of you now. I’m lost if I 
stop another minute! Oh, God save and 


PARTNER S ; 


175 


keep you, for I must be off, I must be 
off!” 

The lights of the pursuing party’s lan- 
tern glimmered red through the breaking 
mists, but Robert Raynor lay fighting the 
dull stupor gathering over brain and sense 
in silence. He must make no outcry un- 
til Smudge — poor, hunted Smudge, his 
partner of long ago — was out of reach. 
The darkness was gathering about him 
again; he was sinking. Help was near, 
but he must not call — yet. 

What was it the waves had been chant- 
ing all evening? Their solemn plaint was 
the last sound that struck his ear: 
“Miserere mei, Deus! Miserere mei , 
Deus ” “Have mercy on me, O God, 
have mercy on me,” they seemed to plead. 
And then all again was blank. 

“Look out, my men ; keep together. He 
is down here, I am sure, but he will fight 
to the last. Why, hallo! What’s this?” 
The leader of the searching posse recoiled 
from the prostrate form over which he 


176 


SHIPMATES 


had almost stumbled in the uncertain 
light. 

“Thunderation !” he flashed his red lan- 
tern over the roughly clad figure into the 
bruised, blood-stained face. “It’s our 
man! We’ve got him — whether dead or 
living I can’t say. It’s Fighting Smudge 
— down and out !” 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE LOST SHEEP 

I T HAD been a troubled night at Car- 
ter’s Cove. The excitement of the day 
had left Milly and her little family nervous 
and restless. 

Don had roused them by starting up 
from his picket duty on the porch with a 
piteous howl that Judy declared chilled 
the blood in her veins to ice. 

“It’s worse than any Banshee that I 
ever heard, and I’ve heard a many. We’ll 
hear of some black luck in the morning I 
know.” 

But the morning broke so bright and 
beautiful that it dispelled all such grue- 
some fears. The sky was cloudless, the 
waves dancing and sparkling as if they 
had never known a storm. Pip, though he 
slept far into the day, woke rosy and re- 
freshed, as sharp for his late breakfast as 
any healthy boy should be, and eager to 
177 


178 


SHIPMATES 


discuss his exciting adventure in all its 
detail. Rob was the hero of his tale — Rob 
who had not “scared” a bit, who had held 
him tight in his strong arm while the waves 
swept over the Bouncing Bet > the mast 
shivered, and every moment seemed the 
two shipmates’ last. 

“I tell you, I prayed hard,” added Pip. 
“Rob told me to pray. I don’t think he 
knew how.” 

“Ah, the poor lad ! I don’t suppose he 
does,” said Judy pitifully. “But the Lord 
is merciful to them that has the soft heart 
and the soft head like Rob. There comes 
the lad in his boat now, and though he is 
not looking for it, you ought to speak yer 
thanks, darling, for all he did yesterday 
for our boy. We forgot poor Rob en- 
tirely last night, and he is shy about com- 
ing to the house with his betthers, as we 
know.” 

“We forgot him, indeed,” said Milly. “I 
was too anxious about Pip to think of any 
one. But we will go meet him and thank 
him now.” 


THE LOST SHEEP 


179 


And the little family hurried down to 
the beach, Don alone standing still on the 
porch with pricked ears watchful and 
doubtful — Don who had been restless and 
uneasy all morning. For it was not the 
Bouncing Bet , but Uncle Tobe’s old boat 
with its ragged sail and grizzled steersman 
that was beating slowly to the shore, with 
its load of green truck that the old negro 
peddled up and down the beach once or 
twice a week. 

But green truck, even at seaside prices, 
was of secondary interest this morning. 
Uncle Tobe, roused out of his usual mud- 
turtle calm, was bursting with the tidings 
that he had gathered on his way along the 
shore. 

Milly stood shocked and almost speech- 
less as the old man poured forth his con- 
fused story. How Rob — the honest Rob 
whom she had trusted with her darlings — 
was a most desprit devil dat had broken 
jail ’bout five weeks ago and made his 
way down to dis beach to hide till he could 


180 


SHIPMATES 


get off — how de officers had tracked him 
down and cotched him last night ! 

“Rob, is it Rob!” cried Judy fiercely. 
“Why, you black idiot, you’ve got the 
wrong story entirely. It’s not our Rob at 
all.” 

“It war de man what sailed de Bounc- 
ing Bet ” declared Uncle Tobe stoutly. 
“Sandy Briggs seen him. Sandy Briggs 
’dentified him. Sandy Briggs said he 
’spicioned him from de fust. He didn’t 
drink or fight nuff to be right. When 
Sandy Briggs heerd he was tuk he bust 
open de little cabin whar he hed been 
libbing and found a bag full of gold 
watches and rings and things and silk 
shirts and handkerchiefs and more than 
three hundred dollars cash money. Whar 
he got ’em all Sandy Briggs says he don’t 
know; he must have been out robbing and 
murdering ebery night.” 

“Rob! Our Rob!” cried Pip, who had 
been listening in speechless dismay to 
Tobe’s story. “Oh, he couldn’t! He 
didn’t!” 


THE LOST SHEEP 


181 


“Of course he didn’t!” said Judy hotly. 
“I wouldn’t believe Sandy Briggs if he 
swore to the tale on twenty Bibles, old 
Scotch skinflint that he is. Rob ! A soft- 
hearted innocent like Rob, that had no 
more sense about money getting than a 
new-born babe! Rob, it’s the devil’s own 
lies they’ve brought against the poor, 
friendless lad — gold watches and all!” 

“Oh, I can’t believe it, I can’t!” said 
Milly, feeling in spite of herself that 
Sandy, grim old Presbyterian that he was, 
would not lie so recklessly. “There must 
be some mistake. He had the best, the 
kindest face I ever saw.” 

“Law, missy, ye can’t trust to faces,” 
said Uncle Tobe with a solemn shake of his 
grizzled head. “Dar was ole Marse Jim 
Denison, dat would kill a nigger quick ez 
a wink, had a face lak Moses on the 
Mount. Ye can’t trust to faces at all.” 

“Ye can,” said Judy. “Ye can trust to 
eyes that haven’t lost their boy-light, to 
the mouth that can smile as I’ve seen that 
poor lad smiling at Pip and Tot. I’d as 


182 


SHIPMATES 


soon believe such lies of Pip himself. And 
they’ve taken the poor lad off, you say; 
they’ve taken that poor, innocent lad off 
to jail?” 

“To the jail! No!” said Uncle Tobe 
slowly. “They didn’t — they couldn’t — he 
was too nigh dead.” 

“Dead!” was the sharp, startled echo 
from his listeners. 

“Yes’m; that’s how they came to cotch 
him. He couldn’t fight or run no more. 
They found him lying on the beach nigh 
dead. Must have fell or struck something 
in the dark, I reckon, when he heern ’em 
coming over the sandhills. Word came he 
was down hyah, on this beach, and to send 
de posse arter him and get him dead or 
alive. He was a powerful fighter, dey say, 
when his blood was up — been in de prize 
ring. Dey would nebba ’a’ got him if he 
hadn’t been nigh dead.” 

“Ah, God help him! My poor lad! My 
poor lad!” wailed Judy; “and where is he 
now?” 

“They fotched him to Pete Jackson’s 


THE LOST SHEEP 


183 


shanty on the P’int,” answered Tobe. 
“One of de sheriff’s men is a-watching 
him, and they’ve had the doctor down, 
and ” 

“And never a friendly voice or pitying 
eye near or nigh him! Never a woman’s 
hand — never a holy word or prayer! I’m 
going to him,” said Judy, her dim old eyes 
flashing into resolve. “I’m going to him, 
though the sheriff and all his men, bad 
luck to them, were in my way. He shan’t 
die like a dog while Judy Grogan is to the 
fore. I am going to nurse him till he 
draws his last breath!” 

“Oh, Judy, dear, yes, go — go,” said 
Milly eagerly. “Uncle Tobe will take you 
right now. And there’s wine and the jelly 
you made yesterday in the pantry. Take 
them to him, Judy; take anything we 
have.” 

“And take me, too, Judy,” cried Pip. 
“Oh, Milly, let me go with her, let me go 
to poor Rob.” 

“Oh, Pip, darling — no,” said Milly. 


184 


SHIPMATES 


“What could you do for him, my poor, 
dear boy?” 

“Just — just stand by him, whatever he 
has done,” answered Pip, manfully chok- 
ing back a sob. “Just show him I ain’t 
afraid or ashamed when he’s down like 
this. ‘Shipmate’ he used to call me, 
Milly,” the boyish voice broke at the name. 
“I want to stand by my shipmate like he 
would stand by me.” 

“And you shall,” said Milly im- 
pulsively. “Oh, I don’t know whether it 
is wise or prudent, but you shall stand by 
your shipmate. Go, Pip, go with Judy. 
Rob saved your life yesterday. Go thank 
him, bless him for that, let him be what 
he may.” 

Stretched upon a rude pallet of straw, 
pillowed upon a roll of ragged canvas, 
Robert Livingston Raynor — millionaire, 
capitalist, traveler, and society man, owner 
of more land and houses and money than 
he ever troubled to count, was drifting 
out of the cloud spaces where for long 


THE LOST SHEEP 


185 


hours he had been lost, back to a dim, 
dreamy consciousness. 

Where was he? What had happened? 
“Smudge!” Again that harsh name 
echoed dully in his rousing mind, the pic- 
ture of the cathedral aisle floated into his 
half-shaped thoughts, again he was walk- 
ing to a radiant altar side by side with 
Smudge. 

Smudge! The name seemed to bring 
another meaning he could not place; he 
opened his eyes and glanced around him 
at the broken boards of the wall, the low, 
moulding rafters of the roof. What was 
he — Robert Livingston Raynor — doing 
here? Was he Robert Livingston Ray- 
nor, indeed, or some one else? 

There was a step at his side, a shadow 
fell across his pillow. “Ah, ye’re waking, 
are ye?” said a gruff voice. “Then ye are 
to take this.” A spoonful of something 
sharp and stinging was pressed between 
his lips ; he swallowed it mechanically. 

“Who are you?” he asked, looking up 
dully into the coarse bearded face. 


186 


SHIPMATES 


“Your guard, my man,” was the grim 
answer. There was a moment’s pause. 
The words had absolutely no meaning for 
their hearer. But the sharp, stinging 
stimulant was beginning to do its work. 

“I don’t — don’t — quite understand,” 
said the sick man languidly. 

“Mebbe ye will later on. Take it easy 
now while ye can. Ye’ve had a close 
shave and you ain’t clear yet.” 

“Not clear yet” — that was plain; “not 
clear yet” — but beginning to be. The 
cloud of vague, shapeless memories was 
slowly breaking, separating, taking color 
and form. It was growing plain to Rob- 
ert Livingston Raynor that he had been 
hurt somehow — that something had gone 
very wrong indeed. He put his hand to 
his head, that he found was swathed heav- 
ily in bandages. 

The guard, smoking at the open door, 
started forward at his movement. “You’d 
best keep quiet,” he warned. “That is, 
if ye want to live. I’m here to watch ye, 


THE LOST SHEEP 


187 


and I’ll have no tricks. Dead or alive, the 
law has got ye again, Fighting Smudge!” 

Smudge! Fighting Smudge! It was 
as if a flash of lightning blazed forth in 
the darkness at the name. The boat — the 
fight — the hoarse, desperate cry in his ear 
as he fell — Robert Raynor remembered 
all. It was Smudge who had done this; 
Smudge, who had once walked with him 
up the cathedral aisle — hunted, desperate, 
maddened Smudge, who had fled with the 
boat in the darkness — who had left him 
senseless beside the sea! And the search- 
ers had taken him — Robert Livingston 
Raynor — for their fugitive. He was lying 
here wounded, helpless, dying, perhaps, as 
“Fighting Smudge!” For a moment this 
astounding situation seemed to stun and 
bewilder him; then he remembered the 
cathedral aisle again. When they had 
walked together long ago, he and Smudge 
had been the same size, the same build, his 
own crisp -cut locks and his partner’s shock 
of tousled hair had been of the same tawny 
hue — when Smudge washed his grimy 


188 


SHIPMATES 


face it bore a rugged likeness to “ Rob- 
bie’s” own. 

So when they found him last night, 
bruised, blood-stained, in the shadows the 
mistake was not so strange. A smile flick- 
ered over his face at the thought ; the grim 
joke of it all appealed to his returning 
sense of humor. They had been partners 
to the last, he and Smudge. He had taken 
Smudge’s place, turned off the hunters 
while Smudge escaped. Smudge was off 
now safe and free to live a better life 
somewhere — “to remember,” as he had 
promised, that “happy day” — poor Fight- 
ing Smudge! 

The sick man’s eyes closed again ; 
thinking it all out had left him tired and 
weak. How could he make that dull 
blockhead smoking at the door understand 
that he was Robert Livingston Raynor 
and would like some champagne and ice. 
And his weary mind began to drift off into 
dreamland again when voices at the door 
aroused him. 

“You can’t do him no good, I tell ye,” 


THE LOST SHEEP 


189 


the blockhead was growling to some one 
without. 

“I’m not saying that I can,” answered 
a tone familiar to Robert Raynor; “but 
I’ll do him no harm. If ye’ve got a soul 
in ye, man, let us in to the poor lad with 
a bit of clean linen to put under his sore 
head and a sup of something cool and 
sweet for his dying lips. Let us go, in 
God’s name!” 

“Go, then,” was the reluctant answer. 
“But he is past your helping, old woman. 
And no tricks, youngster, whoever you 
are. I’m watching you both.” 

But the visitors neither heard nor 
heeded the grim, suspicious warning. 
They were in the dark hut, by the low 
pallet, the foul pillow, where bruised, 
bloody, with bandaged head and pallid, 
haggard face — utterly down and out of 
life’s hard battle — lay Roving Rob. 

“Judy!” he murmured as the old woman 
sank on her knees, crooning and wailing 
like the old maiden mother she was. “Pip, 
little shipmate, Pip !” He stretched out a 


190 


SHIPMATES 


weak, trembling hand. “You’ve come to 
—to ” 

“To help ye, my poor lad, to help ye,” 
sobbed Judy. “As soon as we heard of 
the black trouble you were in we came to 

y e *” 

“Oh, Rob, dear Rob, yes — yes,” added 
Pip tremulously. “We’re all, Milly and 
all of us, so sorry, Rob. We don’t care 
what you’ve done, Milly or any of us, 
we’re your friends just the same, Rob, we 
are your friends just the same.” 

“Just the same,” repeated Rob. “Sure 
of that, little shipmate?” 

“Oh, Rob, dear Rob, yes, yes,” was the 
quavering answer, “just every bit the 
same. Oh, Rob, I wish I were a man to 
stand by you and help you. Oh, Rob, 
we’re all — all so sorry — so sorry, Rob,” 
and Pip broke down outright into sobs 
and tears. 

“There, there, don’t, don’t, little ship- 
mate.” Rob stretched out a feeble hand 
to the sobbing boy. “I’m not worth it, 
Pip.” 


THE LOST SHEEP 


191 


“You are, you are,” said Judy passion- 
ately. “We’re not asking what you’ve 
done or what brought you to this, my poor 
lad. We know it’s the good, warm, tender 
heart that beats under it all! And there’s 
One above that knows it, too. He will not 
be asking too much of ye, my poor lad. 
He that looked for the straying sheep in 
the brambles and brought it home. I’m only 
a poor old ignorant woman and can’t talk 
to ye right of God’s mercy, be our sins 
black and bloody as they may, but there’s 
one out beyond who can. I sent old Tobe 
up to the camp to bring him to ye, lad. 
Will ye see him, the good priest, who can 
bring God’s mercy and pardon to ye, lad? 
Here he is now.” 

And as she spoke a bent, feeble, white- 
haired old man stood on the threshold of 
the cabin and advanced with a low- 
breathed priestly benediction to the sick 
man’s bed. 

“Father Francis !” With a low cry that 
was almost a sob the boy of long ago 
stretched out his hand to his old pastor, 


193 


SHIPMATES 


smiled up into the pitying face. “You do 
not know me, Father, I am sure.” 

“My poor child, no!” was the gentle 
answer. 

“It is Robbie, Father,” said the sick 
man softly, “your old boy Robbie Ray- 
nor, your lost sheep.” 


CHAPTER XIV 

CONCLUSION 

I N A little while the truth thus faintly 
whispered in the good old father’s ear 
was flashing far and wide; in a little while 
it was known that Mr. Robert Livingston 
Raynor, who had been roughing it incog., 
as was his frequent custom on his fishing 
trips, had been found senseless on the Vir- 
ginia shore and taken in charge by the 
authorities. He was suffering from severe 
injuries still and his condition was most 
serious. 

Mr. Raynor’s friends, physician, and 
lawyer prepared to start to his aid at once. 
Mr. Raynor’s own white-winged racing 
yacht, lying idle at her wharf, was rapidly 
made ready for service. 

But Mr. Raynor himself lay on the 
rough pallet that Judy’s fresh, clean linen 
had somewhat improved in a strange, new 
calm. 


193 


194 


SHIPMATES 


There was a great peace in his face as 
with his hand clasped in his old Father’s 
he looked out of Pete Jackson’s cabin 
window at the setting sun. Whether it 
would ever rise for him again he did not 
know, but the voice of the breaking waves 
reached his ear with a new note in its plain- 
tive cry. Thanks to the mercy for which 
that chant had seemed to plead last night, 
all was well. Roving Rob’s wandering 
was over. Father Francis had found his 
lost lamb and brought him back to the 
fold. 

Brother Mat, who was a master of nurs- 
ing, as of all other useful things, came 
over from the camp to stay until Mr. Ray- 
nor’s friends could reach him, so Judy and 
Pip were no longer needed. “He wants 
to see you before you go,” said Father 
Francis, coming out on the sands, where 
they had been waiting, tearful and be- 
wildered, while Roving Rob made his 
peace with God. 

“It’s good-night, little shipmate,” said 
Rob, holding out one hand to Pip, another 


CONCLUSION 


195 


to Judy. “Good-night and maybe good- 
by! I'd like to send a message to your 
sister. She will think hard things of me, 
I’m afraid. Tell her I’m not the cad I 
may seem. Carter’s Cove was no place for 
her — for you. Only — only as Roving 
Rob — could — I help — protect.” 

“And you did, lad, you did,” sobbed 
Judy. “Whether it’s rogue or gentleman 
you are, you will always be my own bold, 
honest lad, that I’d trust to me last 
breath.” 

“Good, good old Judy!” murmured the 
sick man faintly. “But besides — besides 
— tell my little shipmate how it was, 
Father.” 

Father Francis laid his hand gently on 
Pip’s shoulder. 

“He wants you to know what you have 
done for him, my son; how in your simple, 
boyish goodness you recalled his own 
happy, innocent past, waked the boy Rob- 
bie that still lived in his heart.” 

“Yes, waked him, Pip, knocked him — 
with hard truths, little shipmate, into life,” 


196 


SHIPMATES 


added Roving Rob faintly. “The sick 
babies, tenement houses, poor mothers — 
all that. Whether I live — or die — tell 
your sister — I’ll fix them — all right. I’ve 
learned lessons — from you — little ship- 
mate — and your sister — that I’ll never 
forget.” 

And this was the message that Pip bore 
back in Uncle Tobe’s boat that evening to 
the little red-roofed house in the Cove, the 
message that after the first moment of 
breathless amazement brought the tears in 
a pitying flood from Milly’s tender eyes. 

Mr. Robert Livingston Raynor in the 
pride of his health, strength, and wealth 
could never have made things clear to her, 
but this message from the wounded man, 
dying, perhaps, in Peter Jackson’s cabin, 
from the lost sheep Father Francis had 
gathered back into the fold, from the boy 
of long ago, that had wakened at Pip’s 
simple faith and trust — all this with the 
quick intuition of a loving heart Milly 
understood. 

It was such a clear understanding that 


CONCLUSION 


197 


when, some three weeks later, Robert 
Livingston Raynor’s yacht the Wanderer 
drifted slowly down the coast with a pale, 
hollow-eyed Roving Rob in white sailor’s 
garb on the deck, anxious to explain and 
atone, he found no shadow in the joyous 
welcome of his little shipmate, no cloud of 
distrust on their sister’s sweet face, no 
spark in the violet eyes. 

“I scarcely dared to come,” he said, as 
he took her outstretched hand, “but F ather 
Francis encouraged me with hopes of your 
mercy.” And over the fine face there 
broke Roving Rob’s old winning smile. 

“I wanted to tell you and my little ship- 
mates that Raynor’s Row is in the hands 
of the Sanitary Improvement Company, 
that Raynor’s Stores have six Welfare 
Workers looking after the shirt-makers. 
And every baby on the block went off for 
a month’s outing at Raynor’s farm yester- 
day.” 

“You have been busy for a sick man,” 
said Milly, her soft eyes brightening. 

“Oh, I am just beginning! There’s lots 


198 


SHIPMATES 


more work ahead, isn’t there, little ship- 
mate?” he continued, laying his hand 
affectionately on Pip’s shoulder. “I’ve 
got to learn, as you told me, ‘to steer by 
the stars.’ ” 

“But you don’t need to steer now,” said 
Pip, glancing at the white-sailed yacht, 
with its uniformed crew. 

“Oh, don’t I?” laughed Roving Rob 
lightly. “I’m starting out for deep seas 
to-morrow. I’ve come to ask your sister 
to let me take you with me. The doctor 
has ordered me for a southern cruise. It 
will do him good,” and the speaker turned 
eagerly to Milly. The Wanderer is snug 
and safe as hands and care can make her. 
Will you come aboard and see?” 

They all went aboard at his bidding, 
Milly and Judy, Pip and Tot. 

With slow step, for he was still weak, 
the master of the Wanderer took them all 
over his beautiful boat, that with its tiny 
cabin, its dainty staterooms, its spotless 
paint and shining brass was perfect in 
every detail. A sturdy, bronzed skipper 


CONCLUSION 


199 


was just now in command, though usually, 
as Roving Rob declared, he was his own 
captain. Don lay stretched on the deck, 
comfortably at home. And when the 
Wanderer spread her white wings and 
bore the delighted passengers far out on 
the sunlit waves beyond the bar, floating 
like a seagull on the ocean’s swell, Milly’s 
doubts and fears were conquered. 

Her own time was up at Carter’s Cove ; 
she must return to her duties in town. But 
Pip should go with his shipmate, as he 
pleaded, for the six weeks’ cruise on 
southern seas, that, as good old J udy de- 
clared, would “finish things up entirely 
and bring their boy back as bold and brave 
and stout a sailor boy as ever roamed the 
sea.” 

“Take me, too!” cried Tot, clinging to 
her “pirate” with the baby trust that no 
change of fate or fortune had disturbed in 
the least. “I want to go sailing with you 
in this pretty ship, Rob. Take me, too.” 

“I will,” said Rob, as his arm tightened 
about this small shipmate in a tender clasp. 


200 


SHIPMATES 


“Not now, perhaps, little girlie, but I’ll 
come back and then take you. Meantime 
I had almost forgotten. Tad!” calling to 
one of the men, bring that long box out of 
my cabin to this little lady here.” 

Tad brought up the box, whose open- 
ing made Tot fairly shriek with a delight 
that banished every pang of disappoint- 
ment at her delayed voyage. For within 
the big box was a handsome Polly Flin- 
ders — a glorified Polly Flinders, attired in 
the very latest Paris fashion, even to 
watch and bracelet and parasol — a Polly 
Flinders that rapturously replaced for- 
ever the battered, watersoaked lady whose 
head had vanished hopelessly two weeks 
before. And Tot’s happiness thus fully 
assured, Milly and Judy safely back in 
the little apartment in town, the two ship- 
mates went off together on a cruise that 
was like a beautiful dream of sunlit seas 
and smiling skies. They touched at tropic 
islands, shaded with palms and cocoanut, 
at quaint old Spanish towns, where this 
New World’s history began, wandered 


CONCLUSION 


SOI 


through orange groves, feasted on rich, 
luscious fruits denied to chillier zones, 
knelt side by side in dim old cathedrals 
where the Faith had been planted be- 
yond all uprooting before the Mayflower 
touched Plymouth Rock. 

And the shipmates, one in his world- 
wide knowledge, the other in his boyish 
innocence, grew stronger, sturdier, nearer, 
and dearer in their friendship every day. 

“Oh, Rob/’ said Pip the last night, as 
they floated into the starlit home harbor, 
“we’ve had such a grand time together, 
haven’t we? You’ve been just a dear big 
brother to me. Oh, I wish — I wish you 
were my brother, Rob — my own real, true 
brother for good and all.” 

“Do you?” said Rob in a low, gentle 
voice. “I’ve been wishing that same thing, 
little shipmate — that very same thing.” 

And as sometimes happens, even out of 
fairy tales, this double wish came true. 

After a while, quite a long while, it 
seemed to Roving Rob, who had to learn 
the lesson of patient waiting for what he 


202 


SHIPMATES 


wanted most on earth, there was another 
wonderful day at St. John’s, and old 
Father Francis stood again at a radiant 
altar white with bridal blossoms and the 
Robbie of old knelt with another partner 
at his side — a sweet, starry-eyed partner, 
who was to walk with him, guiding, help- 
ing, loving him until, in the solemn words 
of Mother Church, “death do ye part.” 

So Pip got a big, strong, true brother 
at last. Tot, with a basket of white roses 
almost as large as her little self, was 
flower-girl, and Pip — a square-shouldered, 
sturdy Pip — gave the bride away, while 
Judy wept joyfully in the background. 

The wedding, quiet as it had been for so 
notable a personage as Mr. Robert Liv- 
ingston Raynor, was widely chronicled in 
the newspapers, at home and abroad, and 
the usual gifts showered upon the happy 
pair. 

It was nearly three months afterward, 
and the Wanderer had just brought the 
bride and groom back from a summer 
voyage across the sea, when a belated gift 


CONCLUSION 


£03 


arrived bearing a South African post- 
mark. It was a small box of native wood, 
containing a Rosary, each bead of rough 
beaten gold. A bit of paper beneath was 
scrawled: “For your new partner — God 
bless her! I ain’t forgetting. I’m walk- 
ing straight, hard, honest ways. Smudge.” 


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) 40 

0 

65 


now 

in 

print 

in 


in cloth, it contains over 5,000 titles and over 300 illustrations 
of authors. 

O/JE 


















































V* 


